


But We're Still Sleeping Like We're Lovers

by CharWright5



Series: Still [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Alternate Universe - everyone is a werecreature, Derek and Scott are Brothers, Dildos, Erica is obsessed with Frozen, Gratuitous Star Wars References, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, No mpreg, Oblivious!Derek, Omega!Stiles, Sex Toys, Stiles and Malia are twins, Werewolf!Derek, alpha!Derek, gratuitous Chris Evans references, gratuitous Disney referencs, lots of explicit sex, oblivious!Stiles, vague mentions of panic attack, vague mentions of past emotional manipulation, vague mentions of past sexual abuse, werecoyote!stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 16:33:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 109,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2739368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharWright5/pseuds/CharWright5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are several things Stiles Stilinski knows to be facts: he's a werecoyote like his parents; his twin sister Malia could use a filter more than him; he's an Omega and terrified of his upcoming heat; and Derek Hale-McCall will never see him as anything more than his kid brother's best friend. Doesn't stop Stiles from asking the Alpha to help him during his heat. Or from developing some serious feelings that go beyond the bedroom. Basically, he's totally screwed, in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for the 2014 [Teen Wolf Big Bang](http://teenwolf-bb.livejournal.com) over on LiveJournal. Art can be found on my Masterpost [here](http://pbsaliengirl.livejournal.com/78049.html).
> 
> First off, a _huge_ ta goes to my bestie Nath for agreeing to beta this before it turned into a 109K beast of a fic and still doing it anyway. Stiles loves her Scott very much. Secondly, big shout-out to my wonder artist mangacrack and a giant thank you for the incredible art that I love. Beautiful.
> 
> All characters within this fic are property of _Teen Wolf_ , Jeff Davis, and MTV. I just borrowed them, rearranged them, and made them do other things. Fic Title from “ _Still_ ” by Daughter. Anything else used or referenced to is property of whoever owns them. I used it all with love <3

“It's honestly not even that big a deal.”

Stiles loved his twin sister. He really truly did. She was kind of a badass, could hang with the guys or girls and fit right in, took shit from no one, and was blunt as hell—because filters tended not to be things Stilinskis possessed. But at times, he just really couldn't stand Malia.

Like at that moment, when she was sitting on the kitchen counter, legs swinging back and forth as she pulled grapes off the bunch and popped them in her mouth, smile on her face. She was dressed in a three-quarter sleeve baseball style tee with _The Mighty Thor_ logo on it and cut-off jean shorts, white socks reaching her knees, Stiles biting back sarcastic questions about her thighs and wrists being hot. Not the point really and definitely didn't go along with the topic at hand.

Which, contrary to her comments, was a very big fucking deal.

Because _heat_.

Stiles snorted, scratching his own bare forearm, skin exposed from his ringer tee. Malia hadn't bothered holding back jokes about the lack of stupid graphic design on his shirt before noting the serious look on his face, the lack of smirk, the turned down corners of his eyes, the glare she received rather than a responding jab. Not to mention the fact that his scent was probably colored with countless notes of anxiety and despair, all adding to the overall effect of “Stiles is Freaking _Out_ ” that he had going on. She had immediately switched from Annoying Younger Twin Mode to Concerned And Worried Twin Mode, asking what was wrong and if he wanted to talk.

He had at the time, but now he was regretting taking her up on the offer.

Because after he'd sunk down at the kitchen table and confessed he was nervous about their upcoming heats—downside of being a twin really was that theirs matched up and made for some awkward realizations at knowing when your sibling was about to get laid/ masturbate more than usual—she'd rolled her eyes and called him a moron and a wuss.

Sibling love was a grand thing.

“It's a _very_ big deal, Mal,” he argued back, glaring up at her, eyes narrowing further at yet another roll of hers. “It's five days of our bodies being totally out of our control and being completely overrun by our hormones and all we'll be able to think about is getting something inside us by any means possible.”

Malia tilted her head down, “you can't be serious” written all over her face, another grape being popped into her mouth. Stiles returned it with a “yes I can and yes I am” expression, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned back in his seat.

She let out a sigh, sliding down off the counter and joining him at the table, hands folded on top of the wooden furniture. Flipping brown hair over her shoulder, she schooled her features into a serious expression, locking chocolate eyes onto her twin brother, eyes similar in color to his, eyes they'd both gotten from their mother, which made it hard for their dad to look at them in the time after her death. It'd taken him a while to warm back up to Malia especially, seeing too much of Claudia in their lone daughter, which Stiles attributed to his sister's tough exterior and ability to not let things bother her so much.

He envied that in her at times. Especially at moments like that, when their first heat was coming up soon and he was constantly on the verge of a panic attack over it, his inner-coyote constantly pacing and whining from its own anxiety, while she remained the cool, calm, and collected Alpha Malia she always seemed to be.

“Okay,” she began, pausing to take a deep breath and slip back into Concerned and Worried Younger Twin Mode. “I get that you're freaking out, but I honestly just don't get why. I mean, we learned all about this at school and through really embarrassing and awkward conversations with Dad—”

Stiles shuddered at the memory, unfolding his arms and laying his hands lax on the table. The memory of the Sheriff—still in full uniform, of course—trying to tell his kids about heat and sex and Alpha-Beta-Omega dynamics, stammering and blushing all the way through, was something Stiles had spent a long time trying to suppress. He was pretty successful until someone brought it up.

Like at that moment.

Thanks, Malia.

“And we both know you've researched the crap out of it, because that's what you do,” she continued, raising an eyebrow as though daring him to deny the point so she could argue him into the ground about how much he's bullshitting her and they both know it.

Stiles kept his mouth shut, staring down at his hands as he picked at a hangnail. The lack of denial was as good as an agreement and they both knew it.

“So what could possibly be freaking you out about it?” Malia questioned, hands laying palms up as though waiting for him to put the answer in them.

Stiles sighed, frowning slightly. Not for the first time he wished their mom was around. She'd get it. Because she was an Omega, just like Stiles, meaning she'd know all about how out of control their bodies became, how desperate and needy and pathetic, how they'd spend the entirety of their heat week groaning and begging and pleading to just be filled and knotted and kept that way. And while Stiles wasn't afraid of sex itself and was looking forward to maybe, possibly, _finally_ getting laid, it was the out of control part he wasn't too thrilled about. He already had issues with his body doing its own thing, his spastic movements and flailing limbs and klutzy behavior all signs that he wasn't always in charge of what his physical being did. And his mind was hardly ever on his side either, ADHD making it hard for him to focus at times, his concentration all over the map and causing insane results, like a paper on the history of male circumcision for a class about economics. To have his problems with controlling himself further exacerbated and brought to an extreme he'd never before imagined was kind of his own personal hell.

“I'm not gonna be in control,” he stated, still staring at his hands, still picking at that hangnail. “I'm not gonna be able to think rationally or even at all. All I'm gonna be able to think about is sex and getting filled.” He looked up at that, meeting her eyes and pleading for her to understand, to think like an Omega and not the Alpha that she was. “We've heard the horror stories, Omegas so out of their minds with heat that they actually get inanimate objects stuck inside them in a desperate attempt to get off or rip themselves open without realizing it 'cause our pain receptors are dimmed down and then they get an infection or bleed out and die. I don't want that to happen.” Stiles swallowed hard, lump of fear coalescing in his throat as everything he was afraid of finally managed to form words and leave his mouth.

Malia nodded slowly, lips pursed in thought as she took in what he'd said. “Okay,” she began, tone placating but still managing to build up to another argument. “But that's kind of a rare thing. And there are ways to avoid it. Like having someone with you.”

The snort left Stiles before he was aware of the desire to make the noise, his entire head bobbing with the action. Suggesting a shared heat was obviously easy for her, having already found her mate in a werefox named Kira, the two having plans for Malia's upcoming heat. But for the constantly single Stiles, it wasn't that easy. Not when the one person he wouldn't mind helping him through his heats had barely spoken to him since he'd left for college a little over five years ago and more than likely still believed him to be a scrawny little thirteen year old geek.

Not to mention was also his best friend's older brother.

Awkward didn't begin to cover it, especially when said best friend was a werewolf with a damn good nose that could sniff out random boners that could only partially be blamed on puberty.

Yeah, Scotty just had to go and be the younger bro of what could only be described as a Greek god stuck inside an Alpha werewolf's body, trapped on Earth, doomed to spend eternity torturing mere mortals like Stiles with his stupid handsome face and ridiculously toned body and his untouchable... everything, really. Because no freaking way would Derek Hale-McCall ever want to have anything to do with Stiles Stilinski.

“You should just ask him.”

It took Stiles a few seconds to come out of his head and realize his sister said something, then a few more seconds to figure out what she even said at all. And even then his response is a highly intelligent “huh?”

“Derek,” she stated in a “duh” manner. “You should just ask him to help you through your heat.”

He's not sure if it's a twin thing or a scent thing or what that allowed Malia to figure out his crush on Derek or realize that it hadn't quite gone away—because “absence makes the heart grow fonder” was apparently a thing that's true for Stiles and his impeccable luck in the romance department—but no matter the case, it kinda sucked. Because he was left sputtering and gaping and basically behaving like a moron. His face heated up and he knew he was blushing—if it could even be called “blushing” because unlike his genetically gifted twin, Stiles didn't get an adorable red glow on his cheeks; he got splotchy and his appearance more closely resembled hives than anything. He hated his pale complexion and his sister's tan one and how ridiculously unfair it is that she had perfect skin and _dimples_ while he'd been stuck with countless moles and the ability to go from zero to sunburnt in the time it takes to get from the car to the ocean during family trips to the beach.

Not that they'd had any of those trips since their mom died, but that was totally beside the point.

No, the point was his sister was annoying and dumb and seriously, what had he been thinking when he'd decided to talk to her about this?

Right. Thoughtless act of desperation in an overwhelming need to get this off his chest and have someone actually understand what he was going through and reassure him that it was totally normal to be freaking the fuck out over going into heat.

Clearly talking to Malia Perfect-Pants Stilinski was a terrible fucking idea.

He finally managed to recover from the shock of her blunt suggestion and outing of his crush, scoffing at her in a totally undignified manner. “Yeah right,” he snorted, rolling his eyes before shoving a hand through his brown hair, making the strands stand up straighter than they already were. “No offense, Mal, but that's gotta be the worst idea you've ever had.”

“No, the worst idea I ever had was allowing you to pick what car we got for our sixteenth birthday.”

“Hey!”

“This idea is brilliant.” She steamrolled right ahead as though he hadn't just objected or slapped his hand on the table. Typical of her really. “Because it alleviates your fears over heat and also allows you to finally get in Derek's pants. Or him in your pants,” she corrected with a confused frown before shaking her head and flattening her features. “Whatever.”

Stiles clasped his heads on top of his head, slouching further in his seat, legs splayed as far as his khakis would allow them to go. “Not happening, sis. For several reasons. First,” he began, holding up a finger in front of his torso. “He's Derek Hale-McCall. He can have any-fucking-body he wanted. Second, he's supposedly with someone named Braeden—”

“Guy or girl?” Malia interrupted, perking up in her seat.

“Dunno,” Stiles answered honestly with a shrug, left hand falling onto his lap as his right kept displaying two fingers. “Doesn't matter. Three.” He popped up a third finger. “I'm me. I'm a loser and a geek and a spazz and you can stop me at any point here.”

She gave a shrug of a shoulder, arms folded loosely over her torso. “Why? All of it's true so far.”

“Love you, too, Mal,” he dead-panned before continuing. “Derek agreeing to help me through heat would be settling for someone so far below him, he can't even see me anymore.”

Malia rolled her eyes, as close to a disagreement as she was gonna voice. It wasn't that she wasn't complimentary, because she was. More than once she'd smacked Stiles upside the head when he'd called himself dumb and ranted about how smart he was, told him that he was actually a good looking guy and not the goofy looking weirdo he believed himself to be, insisted that he was a really awesome brother and friend and person and that anyone, guy or girl, would be lucky to call him theirs.

She still called him a loser and a geek and a spazz, but that was just siblings for ya really. Wasn't like Stiles hadn't accused her of the similar things really, retorting with how she was a weirdo and a nerd and a jerk. Neither of them took the jabs seriously though because ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time, they were meant in jest and just to rile the other person up. Their dad had long since given up trying to cut into their name calling battles, just demanding they keep it PG around authoritative figures or take it in another room so he could actually hear the game.

“That all your stupid reasons,” Malia inquired, eyebrow cocked. “Or is there more?”

“Well, yeah,” he responded, the “obviously” going unsaid. “Four, he's Scott's older brother.”

“ _Half_ -brother.”

“A brother is a brother is a brother,” Stiles argued, dropping his hand onto the table. “Doesn't matter if they don't share a dad, 'cause they share a mom and were raised together and I don't think Scott would be too stoked if I had heat sex with Derek. Or any kinda sex with him really.”

“Did he actually say that?”

“No, but he didn't really need to. The grimace of disgust whenever I was caught lusting after Derek was kind of an obvious 'ew, no way, dude, that's my bro, back off'.”

Malia cocked another eyebrow, this time in a wordless way of saying that she genuinely had no clue what went through her brother's head or how they were even related in the first place. He'd seen that look a lot growing up. Would probably continued to see it until one or both of them were six-feet under and even then, it'd probably haunt his afterlife.

She let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through her tawny hair before pushing herself up into a standing position. “Just talk to Scott. Then talk to Derek. Then you'll have super awesome heat sex with the guy you've wanted to be fucked by pretty much since you learned what sex was and you can quit being so worried over something that isn't even worth worrying over.” Her tone was completely done, face full of “over it”, and she gave him a blank stare that dared him to keep the subject going so she could break his trachea and shut him up that way.

Despite being the younger one—and despite countless arguments that it was only three minutes and therefore didn't even count—Malia was definitely the scarier one. Stiles wasn't sure if it was just her personality or part of her being an Alpha, but either way, she wasn't one to fuck with. It had taken him four broken bones, two dislocated shoulders, and a total of eighteen stitches over the years to learn when to back down and let shit go. Didn't mean he didn't still rile her up and argue when he felt it was worth it.

That moment wasn't one of them though.

The doorbell rang, Malia's face brightening up, smile causing her dimples to make an appearance. Didn't take a genius to figure out who was at the door, especially considering the way she practically bounced out the kitchen on her way to answer.

Stiles sighed as he remained seated at the table, thumb tracing a line on the wood, mind elsewhere. Talking to Scott was a possibility, but he didn't see any situation where that wouldn't be awkward as fuck and not end with him not being able to look his best friend straight in the eye ever again. Both of them were aware of Scott's own heat having past over the fall and how he'd spent the five days with Allison, but they never talked about it, other than the Alpha's moony eyed soliloquies over how magical and special and incredible it was and how close to her he felt and how perfect everything had gone. Stiles had spent most of that time focusing on the posters on the guy's wall and trying desperately not to picture his best friend knotting a girl who was best friends with his sister.

Some shit was just too weird, even for him.

And he had a feeling that asking Scott if it was cool to see if Derek would help him during his heat would run along those same lines.

Then again, when compared to the other option of going through heat all alone and running the huge risk of doing permanent damage to himself—permanent damage including _death_ —an incredibly awkward conversation over his own sex life and the possibility of his best bud's older half-bro helping him actually _have_ a sex life didn't seem so bad.

“Fuck it,” he muttered to himself, rising to his feet and heading out the kitchen.

Malia and Kira were on the couch, his twin having flopped down on it, her girlfriend snuggled up close, the two with their arms wrapped around each other. He inhaled their tangled scents, the familiar whipped cream smell that belonged to Malia, the strawberry one that came from Kira, remembering what his dad said about mates having complimentary scents that when combined, created a whole new one. Scott smelled like peanut butter, Allison like chocolate, and hanging out with them always gave Stiles a huge craving for Reese's. He could barely remember his mom's scent anymore, but his dad said she'd smelled like fresh milk. Made sense since his old man smelled like coffee, even when he hadn't had a cup.

Stiles smelled like vanilla. He chalked that up as more proof that everything about him just wasn't all that appealing, at least not on a grand scale, and not when compared to his twin.

“Hey, Stiles,” Kira spoke up from where her head was buried in the crook of Malia's arm, usual grin on her face. He often wondered if anything ever got her down and decided that no, it didn't. She and Scott both seemed to have a constant sun shining on them, the world all puppy dogs and rainbows to them. And considering the actual rainbow knee socks she wore, maybe it was.

He then wondered what the hell was up with the Kira and Malia and wearing knee socks with shorts before deciding that trying to figure that out would require him to figure out females in general and that wasn't happening.

He gave her a wave, grinning at the Loki shirt she was wearing and wondering if it was coincidence or pre-planned. Turning away, he headed towards the front door, pausing with his hand on the knob when his sister spoke.

“Where you going?”

Twisting his head around, he caught her peeking at him over the back of the couch, inquisitive look on her face, eyes narrow and lips pursed. “Scott's,” he answered, deciding to leave it at that and not admit that maybe she'd kinda had a good idea earlier.

The smirk on her face told him that he didn't actually need to speak the words in order for her to hear them. “Don't forget to talk to him. And Derek. And stop being such a pussy.”

His response was to flip her off as he walked out the door, ignoring her giggles while he went.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Scott was at work because the universe hated Stiles and wanted to make him suffer as much as possible.

Or maybe it was a sign that he really should just not have this conversation and pretend he'd never considered having it or having Derek help him during heat.

But then again, the universe had given him Malia as a sister and Lydia as a friend and the two of them separate were terrifying, but together, were an unstoppable force of nature that were better to just give in to than try to fight. Superstorm Madia. Or Lylia. Either way, he knew that it was in his best interest to just do as his sister suggested rather than face her inquisition and not chance having the two of them team up and threaten him into talking to Derek and/or Scott. Once they'd decided on something, it was impossible to get them to back down and Stiles knew he'd never hear the end of it from Malia if he didn't just man up and do it.

God help him.

Beacon Hills Animal Clinic was thankfully slow at the moment, no one in the waiting room, Scott immediately appearing at the front counter when Stiles had entered the building.

“Hey, man!” the Alpha greeted him cheerfully, bright sunshine smile plastered on his face, seeming off-center by his lopsided jaw. His dimples were on full display, dark eyes twinkling in delight, and he seemed genuinely stoked that his best friend had stopped by to visit him at work.

If only he knew the reason for the unexpected drop in.

“Come on back,” Scott offered, gesturing with his hand for the other guy to join him on the other side of the counter and in the back room where he did most of his work. “We're just finishing up with this li'l guy.”

Stiles nodded, hands shoved in the pockets of his khakis as he scuffed his way through the open gate and past the front counter. He followed his best friend to the back room, ignoring his coyote's whines and whimpers at the human side's anxiety, feeling thankful for his ability to mask his emotions in his scent.

Plus side of being a trickster animal.

Unlike the bright, airy waiting area of the clinic, the back room was dark, made up of red brick and cherry wood. Stiles deliberately didn't look around, not wanting to run the risk of seeing a needle somewhere or some doctoral instrument that he had no clue how it worked and just flat out looked scary. He'd fainted once in that very room, eyes having come across a syringe Scott had accidentally left out, the needle long and huge and nightmare inducing. It wasn't something Stiles was looking to repeat.

Instead, he focused on the vet himself, Deaton standing by the stainless steel table, a small beagle laying on its side as its foreleg was being wrapped.

“Hello, Stiles,” Deaton greeted him with a smile, before lower his eyes to examine his work. His dark skin shone under the overhead light, bald head covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The latex gloves on his hands had trace spatters of blood and Stiles forced his head away, his coyote whimpering once again. He didn't do well with blood, just like with needles.

Fuck, why had he decided this was a good idea? Why couldn't this conversation have just waited until later, much later, like when Scott wasn't at work or a vet assistant or related to Derek?

Oh, yeah. Because Malia was his sister and the universe hated him. Right.

“You feeling all right?”

Stiles' head turned at Scott's voice, noticing the concerned furrow of his brow, the worry pulling down the corner of his eyes. Stiles always thought it was funny that Scott was a werewolf, joking that his best friend should've been a were-puppy. He had the looks for it really.

“Yeah, yep, fine. Totally fine, perfectly fine. That's me, fine as can be. Fine, fine, fine.” He was rambling, it was clear to everyone with ears, even the beagle who was giving him a total judgy look. And the rambles just made it more obvious that he was, in fact, not fine and totally lying his ass off.

The skeptical look Scott was giving him meant that the Alpha knew that and wasn't buying what he was selling. Jerk.

“Didn't you recently turn eighteen?” Deaton questioned, cutting the bandage he'd been wrapping the dog's arm with and carefully pressing the sticky edge down.

Stiles' twisted his lips, nodding, knowing exactly what the vet was implying. Because turning eighteen for a were-creature of any description meant reaching maturity. And with maturity came more strength, stamina, heightened abilities.

And heat.

Scott's eyebrows raised, head slowly nodding once, arms folding over his chest as he seemed to actually understand what was being implied for once. It wasn't that he was a moron or anything, but at times, he could be a little oblivious and not really understand the subtle undertones of what someone was saying.

“Your heat's starting soon,” he surmised, pointing at Stiles, gaping.

Stiles grimaced, hunching his shoulders and staring at the ground, willing it to open up and swallow him down. When that didn't happen, he started rocking back and forth on his heels, inhaling on a hiss as he tried to gather the strength to push forward and just say what he came to say.

“Yeeeah,” he stretched the word out, words difficult to get past his lips and into his friend's ears. “That's kinda what I needed to talk to you about.”

Tension filled the air, awkwardness hanging heavy over them. Deaton excused himself with the explanation that he needed to get the beagle back in its cage and make some calls, essentially giving the two friends some privacy and allowing himself to get out of what was sure to be an uncomfortable conversation.

Scott remained frozen and silent for a long moment, eyebrows still hanging out with his hairline, hand still pointing at the other man. Stiles didn't say a word, afraid that he'd finally broken his best friend. Which was a damn shame, 'cause a friendship like theirs wasn't easy to come by and had been created over thirteen years when one of them had knocked down the others sandcastle at the beach and a brawl had broken out, ending with hugs and promises to be best friends forever.

It was still a huge debate over who was the sandcastle-wrecker, but the point was they'd kept their promise and Stiles didn't see anything ever changing that.

Well, until that moment anyway.

The Alpha finally shook his head and snapped out of it, holding both hands out in front of himself in a move that looked more defensive than anything. “Okay, dude, I love you, but not like that,” he sputtered out, backing up a step or two.

Stiles frowned in confusion and offense, wondering what the hell he'd done in order to make his best friend actually back away from him. Only to realize what Scott had been implying and for his own eyes to widen to comical sizes.

“Whoa!” he objected, slashing his arms in front of himself. “No! No, no, no. Dude, no. Just, no way. That's not what I meant.”

Scott visibly relaxed, arms dropping, shoulders slumping, air rushing out his mouth in a relieved sigh. “Oh thank god.”

“Yeah, I don't need you helping me through my heat.”

They both shuddered at the same time, making similar noises of disgust. Because having sex with Scott would be a lot like having sex with Malia, in terms of how gross and incestuous it would be. Last time he checked, he hadn't been locked in an attic by a crazy grandparent, so his life had not become _Flowers in the Attic_ and he had more options for getting laid than a sibling or sibling-like figure.

Hell, even then, he'd join a monastery and/or become a eunuch. No dick sounded better than having his anywhere near their genitalia.

Having recovered, Scott rubbed at the back of his head, lazy grin on his face. “So what's up then? Whatcha need to talk about?”

Shit. Despite having gotten past the weirdness of Scott thinking Stiles wanted him to service him during heat, he was now having to face the also possible weirdness of him confessing he actually wanted Scott's _brother_ to service him.

Yeah, there was no easy segue in that convo and no way to suggest it without bringing back that previous uneasiness and frankly freakishness that had just left them.

Stepping over, Stiles hefted himself up onto the steel table, drumming the fingers of one hand against the clenched fist of the other as they sat between his knees. “This is gonna sound weird,” he warned, watching as Scott walked over and leaned against a side table opposite him.

A lopsided grin formed on the Alpha's face, a dimple appearing on one cheek. “Any weirder than me thinking you wanted to sleep with me?”

Grimacing, Stiles gripped the back of his neck, legs swinging freely. “Maybe?”

That had the grin on his best friend's face disappearing, Scott frowning, scent shifting through so many emotions Stiles couldn't keep up or figure them out. “What is it?”

The Omega took a deep breath, then another, then a third, all in a vain attempt to build up some sorta courage or help locate his balls or something that would help him actually just fucking _say_ what he needed to say. But, of course, none of it helped and he was stuck sitting there like a chicken while his best friend grew more and more anxious, afraid that something serious was happening that would be a huge cause for alarm.

“Stiles?” Scott prompted, voice low and dripping with concern. The middle of his brows raised, eyes turned down, worry leaking into his expression, and Stiles felt like a dick for putting his pseudo-brother through that.

“It's not bad,” Stiles reassured, holding his hands out towards him and waving them about. “Like, it's not life-threatening or way out there. Not really anyway.” He tilted his head to the side, thinking about it. “Maybe.”

The concern on his best friend's face shifted to something more confused. “Okay, dude, just tell me, 'cause I'm freaking out here.”

Another deep breath, the Omega gripping the edge of the table he was seated on, head down as he watched his legs swing back and forth. He knew he needed to just go with what his friend was saying and just come out with it, but... easier thought than done.

Really, he just needed a good segue, an easy way to break it to Scott, a way to slowly ease him into things nice and gently.

He just needed to think of one.

Shit.

Swallowing hard, he kept his eyes down as he spoke, keeping his voice light and easy, like he was just making conversation about the weather rather than building up to a possibly life-altering discussion involving the guy's brother and his heat sex. And his virginity really.

“So, uh,” he began, pausing to clear his throat of the awkwardness that was currently choking him. “How's your brother?”

The puzzlement on Scott's face grew, eyebrow raising, lips twisting in a befuddled manner. “What does Derek have to do with anything?”

Stiles shrugged, trying to act nonchalant about the whole thing. “Just wondering. He moved back into town after graduation last year, right?” He asked awkwardly, internally wincing and rubbing at the back of his neck.

He didn't think it was possible, but Scott looked even more lost, his confused scent soon being joined by a hint of agitation as he tried to figure out what the hell was going and what part of this Derek played.

Until it finally clicked.

Realization dawned on the Alpha's face, uneven jaw dropping, dark eyes widening in a mix of shock and horror. “Oh my god!”

Yeah, that was the reaction Stiles had figured he'd get.

“Oh my god!”

He nodded, face contorted in a mix of a grimace and an apologetic smile. “Yeah.”

“Oh my god!”

“Scott, man, can you say something other than 'oh my god'?”

Scott froze, staring at the Omega with his jaw dropped and his facial features arranged in an expression of disgust. Another long, silent moment descended over them, tension a thick cloud weighing them down and making it hard to breathe. At least it was hard for Stiles anyway, but that could be the guilt at grossing his friend out, at keeping such a huge secret like that bringing him down.

But hey, he'd gotten it out there. And now Malia can no longer call him a pussy.

Sorta. He still had to talk to Derek about it.

And not die of embarrassment and awkwardness from it.

He needed a miracle basically.

“Dude,” the Alpha scoffed out, shaking his head in disbelief, face still showing how completely bewildered he was. “Oh my god.”

“Not helping, Scotty!” Stiles snapped, before relaxing his tense body, exhaling long and hard. Yelling at his best friend obviously wasn't helping either, but it was too late to take it back.

“Sorry, man,” Scott apologized, looking sheepish as he scratched at the two bands tattoo adorning his left arm. “I just. I don't get it. I mean, it's _Derek_. Why would you want him to help you through your heat?”

Really, it was the perfect chance for him to admit that his feelings for the older Alpha hadn't gone away and that, if anything, they'd just grown, until Stiles had created this entire fantasy in his head about Derek coming home on break and seeing the Omega and instantly falling for him—hard. He'd see how grown up and mature Stiles had become, how well he'd filled out, what a good little Omega he'd become and instantly become wrapped up in him, much like Scott and Allison or Malia and Kira or any of the five thousand other couples Stiles seemed to constantly be surrounded by. He imagined Derek being totally enraptured with him, following him to Stanford when Stiles started in the fall despite having recently graduated himself, the two getting an apartment together and a dog and then a house and kids and the whole thing and...

Yeah, he was in way deeper with Derek than just “Wow, your face is beautiful, can I sit on your dick forever?”

Although the guy's face _was_ beautiful and he honestly _wouldn't_ mind sitting on his dick forever.

But he couldn't say any of that really, not to the guy's younger bro. Partially 'cause he was the pussy his sister accused him of being, but mostly because there was no way Scott would understand or be cool with it. Hell, the guy was freaking over Stiles simply suggesting having Derek help him during his heat week. No way would be alright with anything beyond that happening.

So he played it cool, shrugging, hiding his true feelings and emotions and making sure his scent wasn't giving anything away. “Why not?” he asked back, playing nonchalant still. “I know the guy, I trust him, and it's better than some random Alpha asshole who'd use my weakened state to do whatever the hell he wanted to me, ya know?”

Something flashed in Scott's eyes, his scent briefly holding a note of understanding, loss, and worry before flattening out to nothing, the werewolf obviously keeping his own emotions in check. “Okay, I get that,” he reluctantly admitted, still grimacing at the the thought of his best friend and his brother having sex for any reason. “But why do you even need an Alpha at all? Can't you go solo?”

Now it was Stiles' turn to wince again, really not wanting to fully go into specifics the way he'd had to with his sister. He wasn't really one for repeating himself, especially when it was an uncomfortable topic such as this. Honestly, he'd kinda like to just avoid talking about it at all, but that wasn't an option, not when his heat was set to start in a week and his sister was now on his ass about just getting shit out there.

He was in a lose-lose situation. Bad.

Or maybe not, he realized as his brain supplied him with info that would hopefully help him not have to get into specifics.

Assuming Scott was less oblivious than usual that day.

“Dude, your mom works the ER,” Stiles reminded his best friend, giving him a pointed look. “Surely you've heard the horror stories of what can happen to Omegas when left to their own devices during their heats.”

Scott's eyes widened, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. Clearly he got what Stiles was hinting at.

“I just don't want that to be me. So better safe than sorry and have someone help me during heat and make it less shitty than it could possibly be.” A sheepish look spread across his face, lean shoulders shrugging, fingers drumming his fist once more. “I mean, I have no idea what to expect, so it wouldn't hurt to have an Alpha there who knew what he was doing in order to make the whole thing a little less scary.”

“And you think my brother is the Alpha to do that?”

Stiles just shrugged again, having already listed the reasons why. Or at least the reasons he was willing to admit out loud anyway.

Running a hand through his dark hair, Scott sighed heavily, entire body heaving with the action. His body language was still tense, shoulders tight, frown on his face, and it was clear he wasn't totally okay with this plan. Yet like the best friend and almost brother that he was, he was gonna go along with it and support Stiles and his outrageous idea. And when it more than likely blew up in the Omega's face, he'd be there with a shoulder to cry on and a hug to give, the words “told you so” nowhere to be found.

Stiles kinda loved the guy. In a totally platonic way, of course.

“Alright, man,” he sighed, folding his arms over his chest and meeting Stiles in the eye. “If this is what you wanna do, I'll back you up. Just,” he paused, grimacing in disgust once more. “Don't give me any details, okay? I _really_ don't need to know what it's like having sex with my brother, ya know?”

Holding his hands up, Stiles assumed a look of innocence, not having any issues with that. “So you're really cool with me asking Derek to help me out with this?”

“Honestly? I dunno,” he answered with a shrug. “Still seems kinda weird to me, but I guess that's just 'cause I share a mom with the guy. But I know there's no way to talk you outta this, so I'm just gonna stand aside and let things play out.”

The Omega bobbed his head to the side, figured that was good enough to just deal with and really, asking for anything more would be too much. He could live with Scott not being _totally_ cool with it but accepting.

Sliding off the table, he stepped over to his best friend, hand outstretched. “Thanks, man.”

Scott ignored the proffered limb, instead wrapping his arms around the other guy and pulling him into a hug, slapping his back repeatedly. “Good luck,” he murmured, holding the Omega close. “And make sure he treats you right, otherwise I'll kick his ass.”

Stiles laughed, the sound muffled by his friend's shirt. Hopefully it wouldn't have to come to that, but really, there was no way to guarantee anything. Heat did some crazy shit to people.


	2. Chapter 2

Deciding to do something and then actually doing it were two totally different things. Different things that Stiles wanted nothing to do with.

Okay, deciding things were okay. He was cool with making decisions. He decided what to make for dinner, what movie he was gonna stream that night, what porno he was gonna jack off to. Deciding shit was okay with him in his book.

The whole following through on said decision wasn't something he was always a big fan of. If he was even a fan of it at all.

At that moment, he was leaning towards the whole “not liking it” part.

Because, seriously, was he really about to fucking do this?

Scott had given him the address of Derek's apartment and vague directions from the animal clinic to the complex his brother now lived at, Stiles driving right there, figuring he should just get it over with. Because if he put it off until the next day, he'd never do it, overthinking himself into a frenzy and winding up having a panic attack. Always fun.

Pulling up to a vacant space, Stiles killed the engine of his Jeep and unbuckled his seat belt, not leaving the car. The complex was made up of several two story buildings, two apartments to a floor, most of which were occupied by college students or young professionals with no families yet. Each building was painted a medium gray color with white trim, the covered stairwells jutting out at the fronts, all looking well taken care of but not too expensive.

Pretty nice place to call your first one really.

Okay, so Stiles was stalling. He could admit it. And really, he should just fucking stop. He needed to go ahead and get up there and talk to Derek and get the guy's answer so he can actually get some sleep tonight.

Maybe. Probably not. Insomnia liked making Stiles its bitch as much as the universe did.

Holy shit, was anything not conspiring to get him?

Scott. Scott was totally on his side, as evidenced by him supporting Stiles' way out there plan to have Derek help him through his heat.

Speaking of, he should really just see if the older Alpha was as cool with this idea as the younger one was.

Which meant getting out the Jeep and getting the whole thing over with. Which he was once again stalling. Fuck.

Taking a deep breath to build up his courage, he finally left his Jeep, slamming the door shut behind himself. Adjusting his khakis around his waist, he scuffed his feet over to the stairwell, up the steps, and to the apartment on the right, as per Scott's instructions.

Only to stop before he knocked.

Because snarls were coming from behind the door, growled out commands of “get the fuck off me!” and “let me the fuck up!” joining, and Stiles honestly wasn't sure if he wanted to knock or run the hell away.

The door flew open and the decision was taken out of his hands. Great.

The Omega stood there frozen, eyes wide, mouth agape, a stupefied “uhhhh” making its way out. He wasn't scared, wasn't nervous, wasn't shocked, just kinda surprised into feeling nothing really. Really the only thing he could do was just stand there and stare at the person who'd opened the door.

Or rather, the blonde bombshell who'd opened it.

The female stood there with her red lips stretched into a wicked smirk, devious light twinkling in her chocolate eyes shadowed in black. Her long hair fell in blonde curls, framing slender facial features and offsetting pale skin. A white tank framed an ample chest, long legs covered in skin-tight black denim, feet bare of any shoes. And as she looked him up and down, her lemon scent was joined by something warmer, a happiness of sorts and something that could only be described as “up to no good”.

Stiles wasn't gonna make it out of this alive.

“My, you _are_ cute,” she drawled, lips twisting thoughtfully before turning into a pleased smile.

A frown formed on his face, confusion overpowering his scent and his mind. Most people said “hi” or “can I help you?”; they tended not to make commentary on his appearance. And they especially didn't make comments that sounded like agreements to something that another person had said on a previous occasion.

Which made him wonder who the hell she'd spoken to that had called him “cute” and under what circumstances had that been said.

His heart began pounding at the hope that it was Derek and he struggled to rein his emotions back in, not wanting to give anything away to a complete stranger. Who thought he was cute.

Random.

“Don't worry, Bambi,” she cooed, grabbing his arm and pulling him closer. Stiles didn't bother fighting it, just let himself be tugged inside the apartment. “We won't hurt you.” The door was closed behind him and she wrapped her arm around his, leading him to the left and into the main part of the apartment.

The sight he was greeted with definitely wasn't what he'd expected.

Part of it, yeah, he totally figured that'd be there. The plain white walls decorated with random movie posters—which, holy shit, was that a _A New Hope_ one?—couch and loveseat both black, matching the metal coffee table, entertainment unit, and bookshelves loaded with DVDs. Although the coffee table had been pushed to the side, blocking the path to a small alcove, the open area of the living room now occupied by Derek.

With a giant dark-skinned guy sitting on top of him.

Derek wasn't paying any attention to the new arrival, glaring up at the bald-headed man holding him down, eyes red, fangs on display. Anger was rolling off the guy in waves, adding a heady spice to his cinnamon scent and Stiles felt himself shrink down under the weight of the emotion and the power of the Alpha. He knew the aggression wasn't being aimed at him, but he still couldn't help the instinct to submit and just give in to what the stronger werewolf wanted, his Omega biology telling him to tilt his head back and bare his throat.

He only just managed to resist, reminding himself that the snarls weren't aimed at him, but the large guy holding Derek down.

Which really, what the hell had Stiles just walked into?

“I'm glad you're here, Bambi,” the blonde spoke up, patting his chest with slim fingers and painted red nails. He got distracted by the random thought about whether the polish stayed when they shifted to claws or if it chipped off or what happened there, before realizing she was talking to him. Because apparently he was “Bambi”. Which, what?

“We need an Olaf,” she concluded, grinning widely up at him.

“Hey!” a male voice objected, causing Stiles' head to whip around to see who'd spoken. Slouching on the couch was a lean guy with dirty blond curly hair, angelic features, and a scowl, dressed in a plain white tee and distressed jeans. “Why can't he be Anna?”

The blonde rolled her eyes over towards him, speaking in a “duh” tone. “Because _you're_ Anna. Obviously.”

“Right, but _I_ can be Olaf and _he_ can be Anna.”

Stiles' confusion grew, eyes taking in the room, bypassing the still snarling Alpha and the Beta sitting on him, coming across the flat screen TV fixed to the wall and the movie that had been paused.

Suddenly the names made sense.

“Are you guys acting out _Frozen_?” he uttered in complete disbelief, interrupting a heated argument over who had girlier eyelashes: him or the curly-haired guy on the couch.

“Not by choice,” the guy muttered, earning a glare from the blonde.

“I'm sorry,” she apologized, voice all saccharin sweet and full of innocence, eyes and lips turned down in a pout. “I was under the impression that you liked having your balls attached to your body.”

Curly-hair gulped, slouching further in his seat, eyes widening at something on Stiles' chest.

Looking down, the Omega caught sight of the blond's hand still laying between his pecs and the claws that had sprang forth from her fingers. Answered his question about the polish though; the stuff just stayed on the bottom half of her nails.

“But to answer your question,” she began, smiling up at Stiles in a non-threatening manner, clearly done scaring her friend. “Yes, we are. Isaac over there is Anna because of his slender build and curly lashes.”

Isaac rolled his eyes and Stiles had to hide a smirk, the little shithead part of him amused at someone else's annoyance.

“I'm clearly Elsa due to my awesomeness,” she continued, flipping blonde hair over her shoulder. “Boyd there—” she pointed to the guy sitting on Derek, the bald-headed man waving once, lips turned up in a barely there smile. “Is Kristoff because he's my one true love and we finish each others—” She trailed off, giving him an expectant look.

Boyd sighed long and hard, face full of resignation, eyes hooded, not happy to have to do it but doing it anyway. “Sandwiches,” he breathed out. The blonde giggled, causing the corner of his lips to twitch as he fought off a smile.

“And Derek is Hans because he's a dick,” she concluded, lips twisted, scowling at the Alpha who was still pinned the floor with about two-hundred plus pounds of werewolf sitting on him.

“Fuck you, Erica,” he spat out, training his red eyes on her and glaring right back.

The blonde now known as Erica gestured to Derek with her free hand, palm up as if displaying him like a game show model, head turned to Stiles with an eyebrow raised. “See? I clearly chose right.”

“No, you didn't,” Isaac argued. “Because I'm still Anna.”

Erica's head snapped to him, scowl returning. “And you will continue to be Anna, so suck it up and deal.”

The lean male simply huffed and folded his arms over his chest, pouting, making the blonde's grin return twice as big as before.

And Stiles had thought _his_ friends were weird. Now whenever Lydia rolled her eyes at his need to turn anything long and cylindrical into a lightsaber or Malia's habit of quoting Marvel movies at the drop of a hat, he could just bring up this moment and point out that it wasn't nearly as bad as making a two-hundred pound werewolf sing “ _Love is an Open Door_ ”.

Which he'd kinda sorta maybe pay to see, if for no other reason than his imagination was having issues shifting Boyd's stoic face into something more playful and fun.

Picturing Erica belting out “ _Let it Go_ ” complete with sweeping arm motions and over-dramatic facial expressions was totally doable though.

“Okay, not that I'm not enjoying having Boyd crush my internal organs,” Derek dead-panned, managing to keep his cool, the red gone from his eyes and the fangs now back to being teeth. “But could I maybe be allowed to get up now?”

Erica rolled her eyes and sighed heavily, like it was a huge task he was asking her to perform and she just didn't have the energy to do anything else that day. “Fine,” she drawled out, free hand on her hip, left arm still wrapped around Stiles'. “Boyd, let the grumpster up.”

A snort of sorts left the dark-skinned male's nose, one side of his lips curving up in a semblance of a smile. He levered himself up and plopped down onto the couch beside Isaac, glancing over at Erica as though to make sure he'd done good.

The moment struck Stiles as strange—not that the entire afternoon wasn't weird enough already—because if anyone should be giving out orders, he was sure it'd be Derek. From the scents in the room, he was the only Alpha there. He wasn't sure about Boyd or Isaac—although he figured Boyd would be a Beta, his build just not fitting in with the typical Omega structures—but he could smell the underlying note of Beta in Erica's lemon scent, along with a slight hint of honey and cinnamon—most likely from her packmates—and a stronger dose of limes.

Her mate's scent.

No matter the case, he didn't think that Erica would be the one taking charge and giving out commands, not with an Alpha in the mix. Then again, Stiles had Lydia for a friend and she was a highly demanding Beta whose every order was followed by everyone, not just her own mate.

Must've been a female thing.

A groan caught his attention and he snapped his head to the middle of the living room where Derek was slowly rising up to his feet, motions stiff. The Alpha turned and faced the group at large, cracking his neck before stretching his arms up.

And holy god, did he not need to do that ever.

Because the guy's arms were ridiculous for starters, all biceps and triceps and whatever 'ceps that were big enough that you know he could level a tank, but not too big to where he looked like a freaky body builder who'd had a person's entire head transplanted into their arms. No, they were just perfect for picking up an Omega—like, oh say, Stiles for example—and hauling him wherever the Alpha wanted him or even just fucking him against a wall.

And then there was the rest of him, or at least what Stiles could see through the white v-neck tee he wore. Broad shoulders, a flat chest, the impression of that triangle shape gym-buffs always seemed to be striving for as his frame dipped in around his waist. He caught a peek of tan skin and a dark happy trail as his shirt rode up with his arms, those lines that bisect a guy's torso from his waist that Stiles often found himself drooling at whenever he stumbled upon—read: searched tirelessly for—shirtless pictures of his favorite male celebrity. All he could think about was running his tongue along there, using the lines as a guide to put his hands on as Derek pounded into him, absently stroking there as he was knotted and tied with the Alpha and...

And he should really stop. Because those thoughts were clearly causing several issues within his boxers, namely the cock twitching at the front and the hole beginning to dampen at the back. Not exactly something he wanted to happen around people who were essentially strangers and a guy who, despite being the object of several hundred fantasies, was still technically his best friend's older brother.

His best friend's older brother who was clearly aware of what was happening in Stiles' pants judging by the way his nostrils flared and his eyes flashed red for a brief moment.

Right. Horny Omega getting wet around a mature Alpha. Not a good combination.

Well, it could be, but it wasn't at that moment, not with witnesses and the knowledge that Derek probably only saw Stiles as his brother's annoying best friend.

Total boner killer right there.

“Right,” Derek stated, voice rougher than before, nodding to himself. “Everyone get the fuck outta here.”

Isaac snorted from his position on the couch, arm crossed. “Fuck you,” he spat out. “I live here, too, and I'm not leaving.”

Erica mirrored his body language, elbow still hooked around Stiles', chocolate eyes narrowed in defiance. “Us neither,” she declared, although he wasn't sure if she meant the two of them, or her and Boyd, or all three of them. Stiles hoped he was part of it, that he had someone backing him up when he was lumped into the group of people told to leave. Because leaving was totally disadvantageous towards his plan to talk to Derek, completely preventing it from happening.

So were the three lower-ranking werewolves currently hanging about the living room, but whatever, he could work around that.

Derek exhaled harshly, light eyes narrowed, face in total Grumpy Cat mode. Grumpy Wolf? Whatever, the name didn't matter. He was pissed, that much was clearly evident in his expression and his scent.

Which, wow, how could Stiles get a bottle of that so he could spray it on his bed and roll around in it?

He blamed his coyote on that urge. Yeah, the human part of him participated in some weird shit, but that wasn't one of those things.

“Fine,” the Alpha ground out, glaring at each of his packmates before stomping over to the coffee table, snatching a set of keys, a wallet, and a phone off it, trying to deposit them in his pockets before seeming to remember he was wearing mesh basketball shorts that were doing pretty much _everything_ for him. He scowled at Erica as he passed her on his way to the front door. “Stiles and I are leaving.”

“We are?” the Omega questioned in a voice that was higher than normal, head jerking around to try and peek at the older man, spotting him slipping his feet into a pair of sneakers that sat by the door.

Derek lifted his head, face completely done with everyone and their bullshit, hard eyes now leveled at the teenager. “Unless you want to have this conversation in front of everyone,” he suggested, eyebrows raising in a “you know what I'm referring to, don't play dumb” face that Stiles hadn't seen for a few years and wasn't sure he ever would again.

He swallowed hard, remembering why exactly he'd shown up at Derek's place, why he wanted to talk to the guy. Why his coyote was whimpering at him to just do as the Alpha said and go anywhere he wanted and look at what a good little Omega we are, taking orders and doing as we're told, we've totally earned help during our heat.

Shit. Heat. Right, yeah, not something he wanted to discuss with anyone, much less the aforementioned practical strangers.

“Nope, no way, nuh uh, no thank you,” he rambled, shaking his head back and forth, vehemently denying the possibility of him asking this of Derek in front of his pack. Not that they wouldn't find out anyway. He'd just rather it not happen when he wasn't around and didn't have to look any of them in the face during that discussion.

Or, ya know, ever.

“Then we're leaving,” Derek stated in a tone that brokered no argument, one hand on the doorknob, the other gesturing to the door itself.

Erica let out a whine that was more wolf than human, pouting at her Alpha. “But he just got here!” she pointed out, stomping a bare foot as an added touch.

The Alpha rolled not just his eyes, but his entire head, muttering about how he didn't have time for this shit as he scuffed his way over. Grabbing hold of Stiles' free arm, he gave a hard yank, staring down his Beta. “And now he's leaving.” With another pull, he freed the Omega from the blonde's hold, dragging him out the apartment, down the stairs, and over to a nearby Camaro, not releasing him until he was by the passenger side.

Stiles tried to pretend like the whole macho caveman dragging him where the Alpha wanted him wasn't a complete and total turn on, but there was only so many facets of his scent he could hide. Arousal wasn't one of them. Although he wasn't sure if it was arousal itself or the scent of his slick as it dampened his passageway and got him ready to be used.

Either way, he was totally on board with the whole sex with Derek thing at that moment. Although the backseat of the Camaro left a lot to be desired in the whole “room for car sex” department. Maybe they could park somewhere deserted and Derek could just fuck him up against it, holding him up with those arms and—

“Stiles!” the Alpha barked, snapping him out of his revery. “Get. In. The. Car.”

The Omega's eyes widened, head nodding rapidly, arms flailing as he sped to open the door and get in the car, nearly beaning himself on the low ceiling. Actually having to bend down to get into a vehicle wasn't something he was used to, more accustomed to climbing up into his Jeep or his dad's sheriff SUV. There was the odd occasion when he rode in Lydia's Volkswagon, but he usually wasn't in a total rush to get inside the way he was at that moment.

The seats were plush yet firm, the leather yielding beneath him, creaking slightly as he put his seat belt on and got settled. Derek soon joined him, sighing again before starting the Camaro up and driving off, eyes focused on the road rather than his passenger.

Stiles took the opportunity to get a better look at the guy he hadn't seen in five years, to note the changes other than “completely fucking filled out muscle-wise”. His jaw and cheeks were covered with whiskers that appeared more trimmed than still growing out, leading him to believe Derek had been sporting the short beard for a while. He wondered what had brought the decision to grow his facial hair out into fruition, deciding himself that it didn't matter because it was a good look, despite hiding dimples that Stiles knew were there. He then began to wonder how that scruff would feel rasping against his skin only to cut off that line of thinking, his slick already slipping out his hole in small drips.

The rest of him looked exactly how Stiles had remembered, only better. He still had that sharp nose, the jawline that could cut diamonds, the expressive eyebrows that spoke more than his mouth, the eyes that were some color he still couldn't quite figure out and spent hours making up names for before realizing he was being ridiculous and idiotic and needed to get a fucking grip.

“Seaside Storm” was still his favorite though.

Yet amongst all the familiar were new things: lines around his eyes, dark circles below them, a harshness to his mouth, a tenseness in his jaw, all of which weren't there before. It was like ten years had passed between them rather than five and Stiles found himself trying to figure out what happened to the guy while he'd been at college to make him so hard.

His coyote started whining and whimpering, full of sympathetic pain for the other male. He chalked it up to his Omega need to caretake, to solve problems and fix emotional breaks. Maybe it was even just because the guy was his best friend's older bro and he felt some sorta kinship towards him.

Although what kinda kinship existed where you wanted the guy to fuck you into next week, he wasn't sure about.

Right, no thinking about sex or beard-burn—whisker-burn? What kinda burn would it be?—or the fact that Derek could make even gripping a steering wheel sexy...

Which really...

“Where are we going?” Stiles questioned, keeping his voice light, allowing the curiosity he was feeling leak into his scent. Mainly in the hope that it'd cover up his slick and the stupid wish that they were headed to Beacon Hill Preserve or Look-Out or some other secluded woodsy spot so they could do it like they do on Discovery Channel.

He honestly wouldn't mind taking care of that pesky little virginity thing. Why wait until his heat? Just get it over and done with, throw away his v-card, never to be found again.

His coyote was on board with the plan, judging by the way it rolled onto its back and bared its belly, whimpering. The fresh spurt of slick he felt in his passageway also backed up his idea. Really, it was just a fantastic idea all around and should be happening. Now.

Or whenever the car was parked.

Hopefully not anywhere his dad could stumble upon them while on duty. Or any deputy really. Parrish still gave him weird looks after catching him heading into a sex shop, determined to buy a dildo, which he really shouldn't be so judgy for because an Omega has needs and fingers only go so far.

He never did figure out why the guy had been there himself. Not exactly a convo he wanted to have with his dad's number one deputy.

The loud creak of leather snapped him back to reality, eyebrows shooting up as he noted the white knuckle grip Derek now had on the steering wheel, both hands wrapped around it. His jaw was tensed, nostrils flared as he tried to regulate his breathing with deep exhales and Stiles really needed to learn how to mask that scent because, wow, it wasn't any less awkward with this member of the Hale-McCall family.

“You hungry?” Derek ground out, not turning to face his passenger, eyes fixed on the road as though his life would be put at risk if he dared move them elsewhere.

Then again, maybe it was Stiles' life that would be in danger, considering the driver was the Alpha and not him.

Right. Focusing on the conversation.

He thought about eating, his stomach protesting the idea. It was too full of nerves, rolling with anxiety at the impending conversation with Derek to actually make room for food. Putting anything in it was liable to make him throw up and that wasn't exactly the image he wanted to give an Alpha who could potentially be his heat partner.

Nothing said “sex me up and knot me repeatedly” like vomit breath.

“Not really,” he answered, arms wrapping around his midsection like it would shield it from food getting in. Or out, really.

“Thirsty?”

Liquids were doable. And his mouth _was_ kinda dry. And a drink would give him something to do when the conversation inevitably got awkward and he couldn't think of anything to say. As much as he had a reputation as a chatterbox, there were still moments when his social anxiety got the best of him and he was too freaked out to speak.

Being dragged into an apartment by a blonde female and told he'd make a good snowman would be one of those times.

“Yeah, I guess,” he answered meekly, shrugging to add that it didn't matter to him either way.

Derek grunted out a “good”, cracking the windows and not-so-subtly aiming his nose towards the fresh air rolling in as he drove.

Stiles sank down in his seat, biting his bottom lip and refusing to hide his face in shame. Derek couldn't stand his scent, couldn't stand the slick coming out of him or the arousal pouring off him. There was no way he could stand to help him through his heat. Really, the entire thing was a giant mistake and he was just setting himself up for disaster and heartache. Believing someone wasn't into you was one thing; having it confirmed was an entirely different, more painful thing.

Hadn't he suffered enough in the emotional painful department though? His mom. His first girlfriend Heather deciding she'd rather be with the Alpha jock than a measly Omega. Lydia inadvertently making him think he might have a shot after breaking it off with Jackson, only to hook-up with Aiden at some college party and announcing a day later she'd found her mate, smiling smugly at her ex who just seethed.

And now Derek, who was damn near perfect if it weren't for the fact that he was his best friend's older brother. And possibly dating someone else. And totally not into Stiles at all.

He made a mental note to stock up on the ice cream on his way home. He'd be needing a lot of it. And knowing Malia, she'd scarf down half his stash all the while claiming it was sympathy-eating because as his twin, she was feeling his pain.

He still thought that was bullshit, especially considering the fact that she had her mate and therefore lacking the ability to feel heartache like that.

Unless, of course, said mate was taken away, like his dad's. Although Malia had come close when Kira's parents announced they were headed back to New York, which had been the deciding moment for the werefox to finally come out and announce she was with a girl that she was pretty sure was her mate.

Totally overdramatic and as awkward as things tended to be with Kira, but it got the job done. The Yukimuras stayed put and Malia had her mate.

Stiles, on the other hand, seemed to have two mates of his own: Ben and Jerry. At least they should've _been_ his mate. He spent an awful lotta time with them.

God, he was such an Omega stereotype at times.

The Camaro pulled to a stop, Derek putting the car in park before killing the engine. Stiles straightened up almost immediately, peering out the window and quickly finding the sign indicating what parking lot they were in.

“Cinnabon?” he questioned, turning to face the other man, brow furrowed in puzzlement.

The Alpha shrugged a shoulder as he pulled his keys out, gathering his wallet and cell from the center console. “It was close,” he muttered, tips of his ears reddening for some inexplicable reason. Although, holy shit, was that adorable.

Stiles followed his lead and got out the car, hitching his khakis up as he trailed behind the older man, his coyote preening at the obedience displayed by the Omega staying behind the Alpha in some old fashioned bullshit sense of decorum. The human was just enjoying the view he was getting. Those mesh shorts seriously were amazing, framing a truly beautiful ass perfectly, rounded globes put on display with every step. He had to stop himself from reaching forward and grabbing, flashes of _Finding Nemo_ and dares about “touching the butt” playing in his head.

Not what Pixar had in mind, he was sure.

Derek held the door open and allowed Stiles to enter first, somehow still managing to lead him to the counter. He paid for both their drinks, the Omega not feeling up to arguing, not to mention broke as hell at the moment. One Mochalatta Chill—Derek's—and one Raspberry Tangy Chillatta—Stiles'—later, and the twosome were seated at a corner table. The place wasn't very busy, a middle-aged married couple and their young daughter the only other patrons, all three seated on the other side of the restaurant. The workers were all chatting amongst themselves, giving the two of them a modicum of privacy in an otherwise public place.

Silence had followed them to the table, Stiles' earlier anxiety returning full force and reminding him of why he'd had such issues just getting out his Jeep and walking up to the apartment door. He had no idea how to start this conversation, despite having a feeling that Derek already knew what it was about, given the ominous look he'd given the Omega before they'd left. Saying the words out loud was a daunting task, one he just wasn't up to.

So instead, he put his straw between his lips and drank deep, mouth filling with frozen raspberry drink.

“When's your heat start?”

Fucking hell!

Shock had Stiles choking on his drink, nearly spitting it back down the straw. But instead, he began sputtering, struggling to swallow, some of it just dribbling down his chin. He flailed about as he sat up straight from his slouched position, barely getting his cup back on the table, coughing loudly and wildly. The family of three all turned to look at him, the Cinnabon employees glancing over, the scent of their concern overwhelming that of his spat up drink.

And all the while Derek sat there, stoically, face completely impassive as he calmly sipped his own frozen coffee drink.

Dick.

Stiles had almost forgotten what a douchebag big brother the Alpha had been, picking on Scott just because he could, constantly putting the younger one in headlocks and dolling out noogies. He'd play keep-away with damn near everything Scott had, from toy cars to lacrosse sticks, would throw balls at his little brother all in the name of “practice”. There was teasing, name-calling, wrestling matches, and ER trips, a lot like Stiles' own childhood with his sister, only with more testosterone and more to prove. His dad had assured their mom that it was typical of boys growing up, that he'd been the same way with his own brother, and that they'd grow out of it eventually.

Judging by the way Derek had just made Stiles choke on his drink, he hadn't completely grown out of it at all.

He snatched napkins out the dispenser, dabbing at his white shirt and hoping the red drink wouldn't stain. “You did that on purpose,” he grumbled, glaring at the man seated across from him before returning his gaze and his focus to his shirt.

Derek shrugged a shoulder like he hadn't been bothered at all by the entire thing. Which he probably hadn't been, considering he was able to swallow his drink. Leaning back, he stretched his legs out, crossed ankles resting between Stiles' spread feet, arms casually folded over his torso as he held his cup on his forearm. “You gonna answer the question?”

A sigh left the Omega, calling it quits on his shirt before wiping his chin and tossing the dirtied napkins onto the table. Sitting back, he cupped his drink in his hands as it sat on the table, not daring to sip any more of it. He stared at the red plastic straw, masking the nerves from his scent. Although he wasn't sure if the anxiety was from the reminder that his heat was coming up soon or because he was actually having this conversation, but either way, his stomach was rolling and his leg began bouncing beneath the table.

Then again, that was pretty typical of him. Sitting still wasn't really a thing he did. Hence him passing on the mocha drink, figuring coffee with his nerves and his natural hyperactivity.

“Five days,” he admitted lowly, part of him glad that Derek had been the one to finally get the ball rolling. Although his timing fucking _sucked_.

The Alpha nodded, lips pursed in a thoughtful manner. “Monday.”

“Yeah.” He grimaced, hating how damn soon it was. The argument could be made that he'd had eighteen years to prepare for this—okay, maybe not technically eighteen, since he'd only been aware of the heat thing since he was about ten or so, but still, a long time. He should've already had a plan in place. And a back-up plan. And a back-up plan for the back-up plan. He'd say Malia had done that very thing, but really, she'd stumbled into her plan. Or rather, her plan had stumbled into her, falling not so gracefully down the stairs of their high school during junior year and landing right on Malia.

But still, she'd asked Kira to help her, had made arrangements for where it would take place and what would happen and all kinds of “in case of emergency” scenarios. Stiles was stuck wincing in front of the guy he'd wanted for nearly a decade and hoping like hell he'd be okay with the incredibly last minute-ness of the whole thing.

Not that he was ever that lucky.

He felt his hope and his self-esteem both sink, thumbs rubbing up and down along the sides of his cup. He really should just give up on the whole thing and just commit himself to that earlier monastery idea. There was no way Derek Hale-McCall—or anyone else for that matter—would _ever_ agree to help him through his heat.

Although now that he was thinking about it, how did Derek even know? Yeah, he could've scented Stiles' arousal on him, and given Alpha natures of wanting to den down a wet and willing Omega, it made sense that he'd drag Stiles out of his apartment and away from other potential mates in a bid to keep him for himself.

Why he brought him to a _Cinnabon_ to do that was a little hard to understand, but whatever.

Flicking his eyes up, he caught the Alpha staring at him with analytical eyes, straw fixed between his lips. “How'd you even know? About my upcoming heat,” he questioned, eyes narrowed in skepticism.

Derek pushed the straw out of his mouth before speaking. “Your scent. It already has the slight hint of heat pheromones that'll only get stronger as your heat gets closer.

Stiles nodded, thinking that made sense, even though he didn't think those pheromones would be strong enough to smell five days before he was due to start. Then again, wolves had the strongest noses out of all were-creatures so it stood to reason that Derek would be able to scent it already.

Did that mean Scott had been able to smell it on him, too? God, 'cause that convo hadn't been awkward and weird enough...

“I'm assuming you want me to service you during it,” the Alpha bluntly deduced, tone not betraying his own personal feelings on the idea. “Otherwise, you wouldn't have randomly shown up at my apartment after barely speaking to me for nearly five years.”

Stiles shot up in his seat at that accusation. “Hey, you haven't called me either.”

Derek just shrugged. Impassive and stoic as always.

A heavy sigh left the Omega as he slumped back again, eyes focused on his cup once more. He repeatedly flicked his thumbnail on the edge of his cup's lid just for something to do, for something to fill the silence. Because words were failing him again, his anxiety rearing its ugly head and making it nearly impossible for him to get his words straight, much less voice them out loud.

“I'm a virgin,” he blurted out lowly, swallowing hard. Embarrassment had overtaken his scent, his body, making his face feel hot and his self-esteem feel nonexistent. Admitting that he'd never been laid to a guy who was practically a walking orgasm and had been in several relationships was about as humiliating as it got.

So really, now that he'd already admitted to one shameful secret, why not just get it all out there? In for a penny or whatever the hell that stupid cliché was.

“And in all honesty,” he continued, shuffling about in his seat. “Going into heat kinda scares the shit outta me. And by 'kinda', I mean 'really, very much so'. I feel like I'd be less freaked out if it was happening with someone I know and trust.” He peered up at the other man through long lashes, relieved to see he wasn't being judged or laughed at, annoyed at the still stoic look on Derek's face.

“You want me to knot you?” The question was asked flatly, still not giving away how Derek himself felt about any of it. But he hadn't said 'no' to anything, which was a good sign.

Stiles still managed to sputter though, despite the lack of drink, mainly at the blunt way it'd been asked, just blurted on out with nothing leading up to it, no gentle segues, nada.

He thought about it though, about being filled beyond what he thought he'd be capable of, about being tied to Derek, the two as close as they could be. It was a fantasy he had often, especially when watching the more Omega-audience oriented porn that featured knotting or videos of Alphas masturbating and popping their knots. He thought about what it would be like to see Derek's, to feel it filling him and holding him and rubbing against his walls, to know that he'd caused it to grow and was the reason why the Alpha would be coming in short spurts for the next twenty minutes.

He felt more slick being produced, leaking out into his boxers, cock twitching and he mentally cursed his body, reminding himself that he was in public and those kind of actions weren't decent. He just had to hope like hell that seemingly nice family and those friendly employees didn't notice anything. Too late to hope for the same with Derek, considering his eyes had turned red before he shut them tight.

Squirming in his seat, he rubbed some of the condensation from his Chillatta on the back of his neck in an attempt to cool himself down. A long—thankfully uninterrupted—drink further helped the cause and he cleared his throat before speaking.

“Isn't that what's supposed to happen?” His voice was meek and trembled a little, completely giving away how incredibly virginal and naïve he was with the whole thing. Which really, he was.

“Doesn't have to,” Derek replied, opening up his no longer red eyes, the orbs back to their green/blue/gray/whatever color. “An Alpha's presence helps soothe frazzled nerves and calm an Omega. We can just fool around, no actual penetrative sex. At least not by _my_ dick.” At that, he smirked, an actual reaction to something other than eye flashes.

“No sex,” Stiles repeatedly dumbly, brow furrowed, eyes back on his drink.

“Not unless you want it.”

He looked up at that, seeing the earnest look on the Alpha's face. He was putting the ball in his court, letting the Omega call the shots and make the decisions for them. It was a huge moment, one that didn't quite feel as monumental as it should have, but still felt pretty damn huge.

Stiles nodded, teeth worrying his bottom lip, thumb playing with the lid of his drink again. “Can it be a game time decision? Like, see how I feel at the moment kinda deal?”

“No,” the older man answered harshly, eyes narrowing. He sat up, feet tucked under his own chair now as he leaned over the table. “Heat messes with your mind so that you can't think about anything except getting off. Some people will even take advantage of their partner's heat-addled mind and made them do things or agree to things they wouldn't normally.”

The scents of anger and resentment hit Stiles like a wave, nearly knocking him over. His whiskey colored eyes roamed the man before him, taking in the tenseness in his muscles, the clenched fists on top of the table, the gritted jaw and tight pull to his lips. His eyes were darker, filled with more emotions than his scent could carry, making Stiles think of that stupid “seaside storm” moniker again and find it even more fitting than before. Because at that moment, Derek was a tornado of emotions, gathering up to wreak chaos and damage some unsuspecting town.

The Omega thought of those changes he'd noted earlier in the car, the way the Alpha had seemed to age more than the time that'd passed since they'd last seen each other and his belief that he'd been through some shit in order to make that happen. Mulling back over his words and Stiles had a few clues to start piecing together the puzzle that was this new Derek.

“What were you forced to do?” he whispered out before he was conscious of the decision to speak, eyes flicking back and forth between both of the older man's, trying desperately to get a read on him.

Derek's face completely shut down, the stoic poker face of before returning as he slid back to his previous position, keeping his feet tucked in close. “This isn't about me,” he argued, arms crossed over a muscular chest. “This is about you and making sure your first heat goes smooth so that you don't forever view it in a negative light and you can stop being scared of it.”

He nodded as he swallowed, ducking his head. Part of him was upset at not getting a real answer, that earlier need to fix things coming back. But a more selfish part of him was glad that Derek was actually taking this into consideration, was focusing on him and his needs. He could feel like an asshole about it later.

Licking his lips, he began pulling his straw up and down, stabbing it into his frozen drink in different places. “I just don't know about the knotting thing right now,” he admitted, not realizing he meant it until he'd said it.

While the idea of being tied to Derek like that was appealing—and arousing—as hell, the whole thing was still kinda scary. Knots were typically the size of the Alpha's fist and Derek didn't have small hands. And yeah, Stiles' hole would stretch a little on its own, would further be loosened through foreplay and preparation, but there was only so far his walls could go before something tore inside.

A million horror stories of heats gone wrong flashed through his mind and he found himself rubbing at his temples as though he could erase them all like a wrong pencil mark on a drawing.

“That's okay,” Derek replied softly, once again not betraying how he felt, but seeming sympathetic towards Stiles' own indecision. “Sleep on it, take time to think about it. But if you don't tell me by Saturday, I'm not gonna knot you, no matter how much you beg and plead during your heat.”

His eyes popped up at that, eyebrows raising to hang with his hairline, lips parting in shock. “So you'll help me through it?” he asked, not really having gotten confirmation either way.

“Yeah,” the Alpha responded and Stiles internally fist-pumped and happy danced and did naked cartwheels that he couldn't actually do in real life because he wasn't quite coordinated enough. “Like I said, I don't want you always dreading your heats. You're my kid brother's best friend. I'm not letting some asshole Alpha take advantage of you or mistreating you, or risk you hurting yourself, because let's face it, you're an accident magnet.”

Stiles stuck his tongue out at that, figuring it was the best response to it. Because denying it would be a lie and agreeing would be pandering to his ego. Besides, he was the kid brother's best friend and he should do immature things like that.

Kid brother's best friend.

Not a friend. Not a potential mate. Not even an Omega he knows. His _kid brother's best friend_. If that wasn't a kick in the heart, he didn't know what was.

Derek smirked as Stiles hid his disappointment, focusing more on the fact that the Alpha had even agreed to service him at all. Really, he should be fucking stoked on that, and he was, beyond fucking stoked in all actuality. The heartache and feelings rejection could come later on. For now, he'd concentrate on and celebrate having a heat sex partner and potential for finally, _finally_ losing his virginity.

“Thanks though,” he murmured, clearing his throat before going on. “For agreeing to help.”

The Alpha shrugged like it was no big deal. “Stop by my place tomorrow evening for dinner and we can work out the details. Isaac and Erica will both be working and Boyd is respectful enough to stay away if I ask, so you won't run the risk of being dragged into acting out _Frozen_.” He wrapped his suggestion up with a brief wag of his eyebrows that implied Stiles should be incredibly thankful because that was just so godawful it couldn't be put into words, hence the eyebrows.

“Yeah, how the hell did that even happen anyway?”

Derek snorted. “Boyd'll do anything Erica asks, mate thing or whatever, and she threatened to use Isaac and my balls as chewing gum if we didn't.”

Stiles stared at him flatly for a long moment before speaking. “I believe it,” he stated honestly, despite only having known the girl for ten minutes tops. “But yeah, I'll come over for dinner.”

The Alpha nodded as he took a long pull of his Mochalatta, face scrunching up adorably at the brain freeze he got in return. He shook it off—literally—before checking his phone. “We should probably head back,” he suggested after lighting his screen up and getting a look at the time. “Knowing Erica, she's already texted everyone we know that I headed off with the Omega equivalent of Bambi and is dying to grill me for the details.”

Said Omega raised an eyebrow at that, the nickname she'd given him being brought back up and piquing his curiosity again. “Bambi?”

“Big doe eyes, long limbs, kinda skittish, walks with the graze of a newborn fawn,” Derek listed off matter-of-factly. “Bambi.”

Stiles pursed his lips in thought before nodding, realizing he couldn't argue with any of those things.

“C'mon,” the Alpha urged as he rose to his feet, gathering his items once more. “Let's get you back to your car.”

The younger man followed his direction like before, trailing after him as they headed to the door, depositing their empty cups in the trashcan as they passed by it.

“Thanks,” he repeated as they stepped outside, hands shoved deep in his khaki pockets. “For the ride, the drink, the. The servicing.” He cleared his throat, feeling awkward, face heating up again. He shuddered to think how splotchy and decidedly unsexy he would look at that moment, glad there wasn't a mirror in the middle of the parking lot. His imagination was doing a good enough job painting the picture.

“Not a big deal,” Derek stated, unlocking the Camaro doors with the key fob. “Any of it.”

Stiles tilted his head down, heart twisting at the nonchalant way Derek spoke about their upcoming sex-fest. He'd been entirely impassive and unattached throughout their entirely conversation, acting as though he couldn't care either way what happened between them. Really, him servicing Stiles was nothing, just a guy looking out for his “kid brother's best friend”. He was probably just doing it so he didn't have to hear Scott whine about how Stiles had ended up in the hospital after some heat-related accident.

Sliding into the car, he inhaled deeply, lungs being filled with the scents of leather and Derek, that cinnamon smell that he always associated with the Alpha. He always thought his crush on the older guy had began because he smelled like his favorite cereal, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, that his young brain hadn't quite caught up with the whole feelings thing, but his coyote and his nose recognized the comforting scent of a meal he was able to make with small hands, his mom laughing as she helped him keep the milk jug steady as he poured. He remembered inhaling small notes of that cinnamon scent as he cried on the McCall couch, Derek on one side of him, Malia and Scott on the other, Stiles crying until he could barely breathe after the death of his mom. Scott would conk out first, followed by Malia, both long before Derek would fall asleep, the older brother staying awake until Stiles was out cold, holding him close and murmuring how he'd be okay and that he knew he'd be okay 'cause his dad was gone, too. He'd been a comfort back then, and was acting like a comfort now, only in an entirely different way.

All right, so he may not have Derek _exactly_ the way he wanted him, but that was okay. He was still gonna lose his virginity to him, still gonna go through heat with him and have lots and lots of sex. Really, it was better than nothing. And if Derek wanted it to not be a big deal, then it won't be. It'll be sex and that's all, a simple perfunctory act of giving into basic biological needs. People did it all the time, anonymous hook-ups and one night stands, friends with benefits and no strings attached. Stiles' heat week would just be another instance of those things happen, a week's worth of casual sex. And when it was over, Stiles would get back to his life, enjoy what was left of his summer, and head off to Stanford in the fall to begin his college career, no Derek and no strings.

His coyote whined deep inside, head pillowed on its paws. It took every ounce of willpower Stiles had to ignore it and what exactly those pained sounds meant.


	3. Chapter 3

Dinner that night went by awkwardly. And, as usual, it was because of Stiles.

He just had a knack for awkwarding things up. Special talent, a gift really. Or a curse, depending on who was asked.

His dad had simply asked if he was worried about his upcoming heat, which really, had been a perfect opening for Stiles to confess that yeah, he was a little bit, but now that he had a heat sex partner, he was feeling a little better. Instead, Stiles had flailed his hands and launched into a tirade about how the sheriff hadn't asked Malia that and why does he even need to go into heat in the first place. He's a dude and Omega heats are all about breeding and he lacked the anatomy to bear anyone's pups or kits or what-the-fuck-ever, didn't matter, it was just pointless for him to have to suffer like that.

The older Stilinski looked sorry he asked, hands held up in innocence, changing the subject completely and turning his focus on his other kid, asking Malia what time she was headed to the Yukimuras' on Sunday. Stiles had felt a little guilty for his blow-up, but mostly was just relieved the focus was no longer on him. Other than his sister's smirks and the new ammo she had for picking on him.

A doodle of Stiles with a pregnant belly taped to the bathroom mirror that morning was the least offensive thing she did.

Sisters were the actual worst.

Which was why he simply flipped her off she demanded to know where he was heading when he left that evening, making kissy faces and telling him to give Derek her love.

His nerves weren't as bad as they had been the first time he parked outside Derek's apartment building, his coyote settled with the knowledge that the Alpha was gonna help with their heat. The human part of him was still anxious, the dinner feeling too much like a date and his experience in that department feeling extremely lacking. Not to mention the fact that they'd be discussing the specifics of his heat, laying down guidelines and ironing out all the details. Talking about that topic in particular still wasn't something he was entirely cool with just yet.

At least he didn't feel like puking.

Stiles managed to knock on the door this time, hearing the soft padding of bare feet on a short carpet on the other side. The door was opened, revealing Derek in all his chiseled, whiskered glory, and Stiles had to bite back any embarrassing noises he was suddenly tempted to make. The Alpha wore a a dark green Henley top, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, the fabric tight and hugging just about every muscle on his torso. Black jeans covered his legs, the denim practically painted on, and he wondered just how much wiggling around it took to get those things pulled up.

And what exactly he'd have to do in order to watch that happen.

“Hey, come on in,” Derek greeted him, stepping back and to the side, allowing Stiles to enter.

The apartment was filled the scents of tomato sauce, garlic, and various other Italian herbs, making his stomach grumble as he toed off his shoes. Add in the Alpha's own cinnamon based scent and Stiles was practically drooling onto the beige carpet.

The fact that he actually _wasn't_ drooling was kind of a miracle really. Maybe the universe was being nice and not causing him to look like a complete and total idiot.

For once.

“Smells good,” he commented, following the older man into the kitchen directly across from the front door.

Derek smiled proudly as he opened the over door to peek inside, checking on their meal. “Organic pizza made from scratch. Isaac and I like eating healthy.” Oven door closed, he turned away from Stiles and headed to the fridge, opening it up and peering inside.

The Omega nodded out of lack of anything else to do, feeling his coyote whimper a bit as he remembered that Isaac actually lived there, too. Lived with Derek, cooked with Derek, maybe even did more with Derek.

Closing the fridge door, the older man handed over a bottle of water, Stiles taking it with a small smile and a “thanks”. He took a long sip before screwing the cap back on and putting it on the counter.

“So,” he began, watching as Derek leaned a hip against a counter, ankles crossed, arms folded over his chest in a relaxed manner. “Are you and Isaac...” he trailed off, not entirely sure about how to finish that question without sounding like a jealous moron.

Which he totally wasn't.

At all.

“Together?” Derek finished for him, the Omega nodding. “No. And before you ask, I'm not with anyone, haven't been in a relationship for years. Otherwise, I wouldn't have agreed to help you.”

Stiles hid the relief he felt at the other man being single, glad that he'd been misinformed—or just not kept up to date—about the whole Braeden situation. “Years, huh?”

“Yeah. About two.”

Really, he should've just let it go at that, should've been satisfied with that information. But he wouldn't be Stiles if he did, needed more than that, needed to keep poking and prodding and nagging and needling until the other person was annoyed and exasperated and he finally had run out of info to squeeze outta that person.

“What about that Braeden,” he started then paused, not entirely sure what gender Braeden had been and therefore having no clue what pronoun to use. “Person?”

Derek shrugged a shoulder as though his entire relationship had been nothing. “Just sex,” he commented flippantly. Then again, it was probably easy for a guy like him to just be so blasé about sex. He could get it from anyone he wanted just by walking in a room and flashing a smile. Hell, he probably didn't need to smile. He could probably scowl and the women would drop their panties for the brooding bad boy.

Basically it was easy for the guy to treat sex as if it was no big deal because it was easy for him to get it. And when things come easy to you, then you tended not to really cherish it or appreciate it the way you should.

Stiles, on the other hand, in all his virginal not-so-glory, he was practically _dying_ to get laid. Metaphorically of course. Although in a few days, it would probably turn into more a literal thing. At least feel like it was literal.

“Was it heat sex?” he questioned, not entirely sure why he was pushing the subject. But for some reason, he had this insatiable desire to find out all about Derek's dating history, to find out what he would inevitable be compared to and lumped in with, if he even stood a chance to halfway live up to them.

Doubtful really, considering the fact that the exes Stiles _did_ know about and _had_ seen—totally not through FaceBook stalking at all—were all beautiful women. He was neither. And considering Derek's own genetic gifts in the physical department, he was kinda slumming it hooking up with Stiles.

The Alpha cocked an eyebrow, lips twisting to the side. “This turning into an inquiry about my relationship history?”

Busted.

Stiles ducked his head, fingers drumming against his fist, sheepish wince on his face. “Maybe,” he murmured, eyes more focused on his socks than the man he was conversing with. Then there was his ratty khaki pants, his black tee surprisingly free of any ridiculous pun, his red flannel shirt. He was completely under-dressed compared to Derek. He was under- _everything_ when compared to Derek really.

The older man let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck before refolding his arms. “I lost my virginity to an Omega named Paige at age seventeen,” he began, talking in a matter-of-fact voice, back to the impassive tone that didn't betray how he felt about anything.

Stiles remembered her though, remembered the sweet, demure Paige who sometimes hung around when Derek was watching over him, Scott, and Malia. He always felt a little annoyed with her for some reason he didn't understand then, hating himself for feeling that way because she was so nice and sweet and made Derek smile all the time. It wasn't until he was older that Stiles realized he didn't like her because he was jealous, because she had what he wanted, because he'd never be a sweet, demure little Omega like she was and therefore Derek would never be interested in him. It should've been his first sign to get over his crush, but he didn't.

He wouldn't be Stiles if he did really. Unrequited love seemed to be his thing, just like making things awkward.

“At nineteen, I dated Kate and we both know what a bitch she was,” the Alpha continued, eyes flashing red in anger for a brief moment before he reined himself in and went on. “Then there was a Beta named Jennifer at age twenty, then Braeden, who I haven't seen or talked to since I graduated last year.”

Stiles nodded as he took all of that in, lips pressed together in a hard line. His coyote was unhappy, the other male obviously highly experienced while he...wasn't. He felt even more lacking, felt even more like he just didn't live up to Derek in any way and really, he was just fooling himself into thinking that anything would work between them, even heat sex.

“Any questions? Comments? Concerns?” Derek prompted, voice soft, not sounding annoyed at having to discuss his previous relationships or having his personal life discussed.

“They're all female,” he murmured without even being aware of his lips moving, the realization of that fact coming to him as he spoke it. Because they were. And here Stiles was, most definitely not female, and expecting Derek to service him and even be interested in him at all.

“I'm bi,” the Alpha clarified in the same way he might say “I have black hair” or “I'm half-Mexican” or “I'm a big brother”. It was just a statement of fact that wasn't really a big deal, just another facet of who he was. The younger man envied him on that front, too, remembering how worked up he'd gotten when he realized he was as into men as he was into women and it turned out everyone kinda already knew, if for no other reason than “male Omega”.

That plus, according to Lydia, he spent a bit too long staring at Han Solo's ass. But really, with those pants, he couldn't be blamed for staring, no matter his sexuality.

He might have started picturing Derek in that very outfit, thinking Solo's pants weren't any tighter than the jeans the Alpha seemed to have magically slipped into that day. Might have. Maybe. There was no real proof either way.

“And I've had sex with guys,” Derek continued, still in that same tone. “No serious relationships with a guy though, mainly just one night stands.” He shrugged a shoulder, dismissing the whole thing. “Anything else?”

Stiles shook his head, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. The other man had been more than generous with the info he'd given, the way he'd allowed his personal life to be invaded and put on display, even if it was just between the two of them. It was more than the Omega would've provided, that was for sure. He hated having his own private stuff being dug into, hated dealing with personal questions, yet he was being a total hypocritical asshole by asking Derek all these invasive questions, all because of some ridiculous sense of jealousy and an idiotic belief that he was entitled to that stuff.

He was a prick.

Wincing slightly, he inhaled on a hiss, exhaling on an extended “yeaaaah”. “Sorry for being nosy and invasive,” he apologized, shoving his hands in the pockets of his khakis.

Derek simply shrugged again, genuinely not seeming bothered by it. His scent was one of contentment and Stiles didn't note any signs of wolfing out or feel any need to submit before the Alpha's anger. “It's good that you asked,” he stated, surprising the younger man. “You need to know who you're sleeping with and what you're getting yourself into.”

Stiles' eyebrows went up, head rearing back slightly. Totally not how he expected the older man to react, especially given how private he seemed to be, how quiet. Getting any info outta him was like pulling teeth out of a chicken's mouth, so for him to not only be forthcoming with it, but also okay with doing so, was definitely a surprise. A pleasant one, but one nonetheless.

But what he said was true, was wise really, good advice. It seemed like something Derek would've told Scott, advice to be careful and know what he was doing before he became sexually active himself. Obviously that would be coming from a more big-brotherly kind of place, which hopefully wasn't where it came from when he said it to Stiles. He really hoped there weren't any sibling-like feelings aimed at him from the Alpha. Would make next week awkward as fuck.

Not that it wouldn't already be.

The guy had a point though and Stiles honestly did feel somewhat better after learning about Derek's sexual experience—seething jealousy aside. It put him at ease knowing that the person he asked to help him through his heat—and in turn, lose his virginity to—would actually know what he was doing, would make sure the Omega got through it all right and would even enjoy it maybe, possibly, kinda sorta.

But...Derek was _experienced_. And Stiles clearly wasn't.

It always seemed to come back to that.

“Should I, uh,” he started then paused, grimacing again as he rubbed the back of his head. “I mean.” Jesus, what _did_ he mean? What the hell was he trying to even say? “You obviously have a lot of experience and my lone sexual partners are my hands and—” He stopped again, feeling about twenty different kinds of lame for what he was saying and how he was saying it.

Shoot him full of wolfsbane and put him outta his misery already.

“Should I, ya know?” He waved his hand around in a circle, hoping the other man got the gist of what he was saying. Not that Stiles even knew what he was saying, not really. He was pretty sure he was suggesting he go out there and gain some experience, get a few notches in his bedpost—which, where did that saying even come from in the first place?—so he could maybe be on a more even playing field with Derek. Or at least feel like he'd eventually make it to a close level.

A small smirk pulled up the corner of Derek's lips, amusement sparkling in his eyes and dancing in his scent. “Stiles,” he said softly and wow, could he say his name forever, because wow. “It's okay to be a virgin.”

Ugh. That _word_.

Wrapping his arms around his torso, he tried to go for nonchalant, but knew he was coming across as insecure and pathetic as he felt he was. “I just feel really lame compared to you,” he admitted lowly, finally getting the truth out there and not really feeling all the better for it. “The truth shall set you free” is bullshit, end of.

The Alpha's face grew hard, eyes narrowed as he pushed away from the counter. He jabbed a finger in Stiles' direction, muscles tensed, and the Omega barely stopped himself from sinking to his knees and baring his throat. “ _Never_ compare yourself to someone else,” he commanded, words nearly a growl. “It'll just lead to a life of depression and self-hatred.”

And wasn't _that_ the truth, one the younger man was all too aware of.

He swallowed hard at the command, the words more of an order despite having the big-brotherly-advice feel of before. “Got it,” he rasped out, forcing a smile on his face, knowing it was as shaky as he was feeling.

Derek nodded once, seeming appeased, a buzzer going off in the background. Dropping his hand, he grabbed an oven mitt and opened the appliance door, taking the pizza out.

Conversation ceased, aside from the occasional direction from the Alpha, the two more focused on the pizza being sliced and dished out. It wasn't long before they were seated on the couch, two slices each, a roll of paper towels set on the coffee table as a substitute for napkins. A baseball game was on the TV, sound muted, and Stiles smiled as he noted the team names on the boxscore in the corner.

“Mets and Dodgers, huh?” he smirked, taking a big bite of a pizza, getting a mouthful of thin crust, tomato sauce, pepperoni, and cheese melted so perfectly it was hanging from his lips to the rest of the slice.

A sad smile formed on Derek's face as he swallowed his own bite, eyes faraway as he glanced at the TV. “Yeah. The Mets were my dad's team.”

“Mine, too,” Stiles replied, mouth still full, swallowing before he continued. “Well, still are really.” He clarified with a shrug. Not that the other man needed to be reminded or informed of that, but whatever. Conversation was being made.

And then stopped, the two of them more focused on filling their stomachs and watching the game.

Had to be Kershaw pitching. Mets were gonna get killed.

Stiles was halfway through his second slice when Derek decided to break the silence.

“We should make a plan for your heat.”

The Omega dropped his half-slice onto the plate on his lap, slamming back against the couch, head tilted, eyes closed, groaning. He knew it was necessary, that they needed to do that. Malia had had a plan for nearly three months now, knew exactly what was gonna happen and when. Not that Stiles knew any of it—or even _wanted_ to know—other than the fact that she was heading to Kira's on Sunday, her dad was staying out of town for the week, and she'd be back the following one. Stiles had nothing planned beyond “sex with Derek. Repeatedly”, meaning there was still obviously a lot of details they needed to hash out.

Didn't mean he wanted to do it. Because then they'd have to talk. About his _heat_. Not his favorite conversation topic.

“If it starts Monday,” Derek went on, ignoring the younger man's reaction entirely. He was back to the impassive voice again and Stiles wasn't entirely sure if he was glad the Alpha was keeping such a level head about it all so he'd be better taken care of, or if he was pissed because he wanted the guy to show _some_ emotion regarding how he felt about it all. Almost made Stiles feel like he was gonna be sharing his heat with a robot.

A sexy, sexy robot.

“Then you should come over Saturday, spend a day and a couple nights with a clear head getting used to this place and the smells, make you more comfortable with it.”

The Omega nodded—as much as he could with his neck arched weirdly, back of his skull on the back of the couch—before Derek's suggestion fully set in and his head popped up. “Wait,” he requested, head turning to the older man. “I'd be spending heat _here_?” he double-checked, pointing down.

“Yeah. Figured it'd be better than going through it under the same roof as your dad.” He gave the younger man a pointed look before biting into his pizza, eyebrows arched in a “you know I'm right” way.

The thought of his dad hearing any sort of sex noises—whether solo or with a partner—coming from him was a terrifyingly embarrassing one, making him shudder all over. “Good point,” he admitted, picking his slice back up. “But what about Isaac?”

The Alpha finished chewing and swallowed before speaking, leaning over to grab his water bottle off the coffee table. “I already talked to him and he's gonna see if he can stay with Boyd and Erica, which I'm sure they'll be fine with.”

Stiles wanted to ask how he could be so sure, only to think of his own friends. Scott would have no issues letting Stiles crash with him, already had done that very thing after a few too many at a couple parties. Lydia would probably make him sleep on the floor. Kira had a guest room he'd spent the night in after her birthday party, Danny having a similar space. He wouldn't bother asking Jackson if for no other reason that Jackson was a douche and no way would Stiles even _want_ to crash there under any circumstances.

Reaching forward, he grabbed his own drink, trying not to drop his plate as he got distracted by the adorable sight of Derek drinking with his pinky raised. “Yeah, staying here is definitely better than at home with Dad,” he agreed, uncapping his own bottle and raising it to his lips.

“All right,” the older man nodded, screwing his cap on. “And I'll get some toys in case you don't want me to knot you.”

Derek really needed to learn how to time shit.

Stiles choked on his water, not nearly as bad as he had on his Chillatta the day before, but still enough to make him cough and sputter out a “Jesus, dude.”

“This stuff needs to be talked about,” the Alpha pointed out, eyes grave, tone brokering no argument. Stiles could do nothing but sink back into the couch, scratching the side of his neck rather than baring it. “We need to come up with a game plan so we're on the same page and you enjoy your heat.”

The teenager snorted, rolling his eyes and tapping his crust against the plate. “Can heat even _be_ enjoyed?” he questioned skeptically.

“If you spend it with the right person, it can, yeah.” Derek's voice was soft, the harshness gone from his tone and his body language, corner of his lips slightly turned up.

Stiles kept his focus on his plate, swallowing a hard lump of jealousy. The way the older man spoke, it was like the words were coming from a place of personal experience, like he'd had wonderful, incredible heat experiences with someone—or some _ones_ —before and so he knew firsthand how awesome and enjoyable it could be. Their earlier conversation over Derek's sexual experiences and the implication that he'd shared heats with other women before came back, smacking him upside the head. Of course he'd thought it was great. He'd been with gorgeous females who catered to his every Alpha need. They weren't whiny, needy little Omegas who were kinda “meh” in the looks department and flailed about as often as they breathed.

But maybe Derek had a point when it came to Stiles. Maybe sharing it with the right person would make everything okay, make heat an enjoyable thing. And maybe Derek was that right person.

At least for this heat. Because if Stiles had realized anything over the past two days, it was that Derek didn't see him that way and that they definitely weren't meant to be, no matter how badly he wanted them to be.

Taking a deep breath, he steadied his nerves and pulled himself together, nodding. “Okay,” he breathed out. “Toys.”

“Toys,” Derek repeated flatly.

An uneasy smirk formed on Stiles' lips as he tried to lighten the mood. “I'm assuming you aren't talking about action figures.”

The Alpha's face grew serious, brow drawn into a hard line. “No, I already have those.”

Stiles stared at him blankly, noting the grave expression in his eyes, the completely earnest way he'd spoken. His heartbeat was even, no blips or upticks, and his scent spoke of no guilt. But still...

“I honestly can't tell if you're joking or not.”

Derek's response was to smirk and take a bite of his pizza.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles surprised himself by being the one to return to the more serious side of their conversation. “So what else do we need?”

“Other than action figures?” the Alpha questioned, still smirking. Stiles threw a used paper towel at his face, hating how it was batted away with a chuckle. “Any special requests?”

“What? Like, candlelight, rose petals on the bed, romantic music playing in the background?” the Omega joked, throwing out every cheesy cliché he could think of when it came to sex, wrapping up the lovey-dovey stereotypes by tearing off a piece of his crust with his teeth. Because nothing said “romance” like ripping your food apart caveman style.

Derek just stared at him with an eyebrow cocked, wordlessly asking if he was serious.

“Joke,” he clarified, mouth full of half-chewed food.

“Aren't jokes usually funny?”

The younger man just stuck his tongue out, reaching over and smacking a muscular arm when he got a smirk in return.

“Seriously though,” Derek sobered up, scratching his whisker-covered jaw. “There anything in particular that you need?”

Stiles drank deeply, mulling it over. Honestly, he had no clue what the hell he'd need. From everything he'd learned, his passage would leak more than usual, so there was no need for any sort of lube. Condoms weren't necessary either, since he couldn't get pregnant and Derek wasn't likely to have anything disease-wise, being a werewolf and all. His lack of experience with sex and heats meant he had no mistakes to look back on, no “next time, I need to remember to get that thing” for him to recall. Just a big black void of information.

And a whole lotta nerves, which were coming back, and no way was he throwing up that delicious pizza.

Shaking his head, he swallowed. “Not that I can think of,” he admitted, peering up at the larger man. “Just whatever you think we'll need.”

“All right,” Derek replied, nodding solemnly, like he'd been given a task of utmost important and it was vital to the fate of the world for him to not fail. Reaching over, he put his hand on Stiles' forearm, gripping lightly. Even through a layer of flannel, Stiles could still feel the heat of his palm, AP Anatomy lessons flashing through his mind about how werewolves ran the hottest out of all the were-creatures. He wondered if Derek would still feel warmer to him when he was going through heat, or if they'd level out, or if he'd end up feeling hot to the Alpha.

Guess it was just something he'd have to find out when it happened.

His gaze flicked from the hand on his arm to the older man's face, taking in the serious expression he still wore and the heavy light in his eyes.

“I promise I'll take care of you,” he vowed and the Omega completely believed it.

“I know,” Stiles replied, small smile on his face. “That's why I asked you, 'cause I trust you.”

“Good.” The Alpha wore a small grin of his own before he sat up straight, pulling his hand back. Stiles' coyote whimpered at the loss, wanting the hand back, touching everywhere, petting the Omega and seeing what a good boy he was. “You want another slice?”

It took Stiles a moment to catch up, eyes darting down to his plate and the one bite of crust he still had. Popping it in his mouth, he nodded, holding his plate out when Derek reached for it.

The older man carried both to the kitchen, telling Stiles he could unmute the game if he wanted to, which he did. As Derek gave into Alpha instincts to gather more food for his Omega, Stiles settled into the couch, the even tones of Vin Scully's commentary calming him even further. He had a heat partner. He had a plan for his heat. He had it all figured out now.

He just had to tell his dad about it.

Shit.

~*~*~*~*~*~

His opportunity to talk his dad came sooner than he'd hoped. Although realistically, he should've just gone right up to his dad as soon as he got home from Derek's and told him everything. It was three days before his heat was set to start and he didn't exactly have time to fuck about and delay things.

Didn't mean he wasn't gonna procrastinate though. It was another talent he had, putting things off until the last minute then downing four energy drinks, upping his Addaral intake, and typing up a fifteen page paper the night before it was due. He should know better than to do that really—since it lead to papers on circumcision for econ—but old habits die hard and he was putting off breaking the habit of putting things off.

But as much as he wanted to procrastinate, the universe once again decided to be a little shit and do the opposite of what Stiles wanted. Meaning the morning after he'd had dinner at Derek's, as he was eating breakfast at the kitchen table, his dad entered the room in full sheriff regalia.

Crap.

His dad headed straight for the coffee maker, grabbing his travel mug from the cupboard above it and setting about making himself a drink. Okay, so he wasn't caffeinated yet. Stiles had a chance to quickly finish then sneak out and totally avoid this whole thing.

Or not, he realized when he looked down and noted he still had half a stack of waffles and three-quarters of his own cup of joe left. He wasn't crafty enough to slip out unnoticed with his hands full. Coyote or not, he wasn't all that great at the whole tricking and being sneaky thing. The accumulative two years of groundings was proof of that.

“Hey, Kid,” his dad greeted him, opening the fridge to grab the milk. “Where were ya last night?”

His chewing slowed, using his full mouth as an excuse to not answer. Not that it ever stopped him from yammering on before. And judging from the way his dad had turned his head as he poured milk into his mug, eyebrows raised in expectation, he was obviously waiting on an answer at some point. Really, chewing slower was just buying him time to think up a lie.

Okay, terrible idea. It wasn't that he didn't think he'd get away with lying, because he had, several times; he just knew he needed to talk to his old man eventually. And considering the fact that he was leaving to stay at Derek's for about a week starting the next day, he was pretty much outta time. He needed to be straightforward, tell the truth, just get it all out there.

Easier thought than done, of course.

Swallowing, he waited until his dad's back was turned, focus more on returning the milk to its rightful spot. “Derek's,” he answered flatly, hoping to mimic the Alpha and not give away anything with his tone of speech.

“Derek?” the sheriff questioned dubiously as he straightened up, fridge door closing on its own. “Melissa's son Derek?” He turned around and faced his son, brow creased in skepticism, arms folding over his khaki shirt. “Scott's older brother Derek? Your old babysitter Derek?”

“They're all the same guy, Dad,” the Omega pointed out, forever the little shit. Spearing a triangle of waffle, he held it up as he spoke. “We had dinner and watched the game. Mets beat the Dodgers by the way.” He added on the last part in the hopes that it would be distraction enough so his dad wouldn't really hear the rest of what he'd said, popping the syrup drenched waffles in his mouth.

His luck was never that good.

“Good,” the older Stilinski nodded, grabbing the carafe out the coffee maker. “But you know I gotta ask—” He trailed off, giving the younger one a pointed look that said he knew Stiles was aware of what exactly would be asked and he wouldn't tolerate any of his shit when he pretended otherwise.

“Why was I having dinner with Derek?”

A scoffed out “yeah” was the sheriff's response before he began pouring coffee into his travel mug.

Stiles laid his fork on his plate, taking a long drink of coffee as he mulled things over. Because seriously, how was he supposed to tell his dad that he was hanging out with the guy who agreed to possibly take his v-card and possibly repeatedly fuck him?

No, not possibly. _Definitely_. After thinking it over for all of five minutes the night before, he realized there was no fucking way he was passing up the opportunity to have sex with Derek Hale-McCall.

“Son,” his dad prompted, face both worried and afraid, features scrunched up and making those stress lines he had stand out even more. “Are you and Derek. Together?”

“No,” Stiles answered honestly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not really anyway.”

The older Stilinski turned towards his son, leaning back against the counter, arms folded over his chest. “How is that a 'not really'?” he demanded to know in his sheriff voice before wincing again. “Or is it something I don't wanna know?”

Gripping his fork, the teenager began tapping the tines against his plate, lips pressed together, leg shaking beneath the table. “Honestly? Probably not,” he admitted, grimacing briefly himself. “But you need to.”

His dad nodded slowly once, a million things flashing in his blue eyes, probably recalling all the times Stiles had called him at work and fessed up to whatever idiotic stunt he, Scott, and Malia had performed that afternoon and which item in the house was broken or who was in the emergency room. Derek usually got the shit end of those lectures since he was usually the one left in charge of them and was supposed to be keeping an eye on them. Poor guy had his hands full. Stiles should send him a muffin basket as a thanks and an apology all in one.

Or maybe he could just give the guy his v-card.

Yeah. Way cheaper that way.

The sheriff's scent changed to something a little more embarrassed, still grimacing as though he really didn't want to say what he was thinking, but having no other choice. “Does this have anything to do with—” He paused, swirling a hand around in Stiles' direction as though gesturing to something. The Omega looked down at his jeans and “Han Shot First” tee, wondering what exactly he was referring to. Clearly it wasn't his choice in shirts, because this one was _awesome_. “Your heat?”

Oh. Right.

Oh god, his dad was right to feel awkward. Because that's how it felt for Stiles every time it was brought up. He figured it had to be as bad for Malia, since she was a girl and getting the heat talk from a parental figure of the opposite gender was clearly painful. For Stiles, it was godawful because his dad was an Alpha and therefore just didn't get what it was like being an Omega. With stereotypes being what they were, an Omega son was pretty much the equivalent of having any sort of daughter, just with different equipment. There was no way an Alpha male could relate to that on any level. So heat talks just didn't work out all that well between them and left both Stilinski men embarrassed and awkward, avoiding each other for several hours—if not days—after.

Good thing Stiles was leaving the next night then.

“Yeah,” he replied, swirling a piece of waffle in a puddle of syrup that had dripped down off the stack. “I asked him to service me during it.” He winced slightly, tensing up and bracing himself for his dad's reaction.

The non-committal “huh” he huffed out wasn't what he expected, but he'd take it. “And he agreed?”

Stiles nodded, still staring at where he was playing with his food. “He wants me to go over there tomorrow night to get comfortable before my heat officially starts, get used to the scents of my new environment and all that.”

His dad looked impressed, nodding himself in a more thoughtful manner. “And you're okay with this plan?”

He snorted. “Better than spending heat here alone and making things really awkward between us.”

The sheriff winced more, inhaling on a slight hiss. “I think it's a bit late for that.”

The Omega see-sawed his head, conceding the point. “Okay, _more_ awkward,” he clarified, somewhat bitterly. Not that it was his dad's fault that he was an Omega in a house of Alphas and that no one around him seemed to get it. The only other Omega he knew was Danny, but he didn't know the guy well enough to actually talk to him about everything. Plus the guy had found his own mate, had hooked up with Lydia's mate's twin bro at her eighteenth birthday and boom, that was it, fate sealed forever.

Yeah, he was a bit jealous that literally everyone he was friends with—and that didn't include Jackson, because he wasn't a _friend_ , he was an acquaintance that showed up during group hangs—had paired up and he was stuck being the lone single person—again, excluding Jackson—but he couldn't hate Danny for it. The guy was literal sunshine and rainbows, even smelled like a fucking tropical beach. Ethan's ocean scent just made them a walking vacation and Stiles might've maybe been a bit bitter about that.

Seriously. What the hell kinda scent went with plain old boring _vanilla_ anyway? Who even liked vanilla? Vanilla was the part of Neapolitan ice cream that got left behind because everyone wanted the parts with actual flavor. It was the way to describe boring sex, something safe and average and mundane. It was the air freshener that stopped working after an hour because it just wasn't strong enough to make your car smell nice for an extended period of time.

Basically, no one liked vanilla. Not even the elderly, who'd rather gum down tapioca than vanilla ice cream. There was a reason why it was always drenched in hot fudge or paired with bananas and cherries. There was a reason why Nilla Wafers were always dipped into pudding rather than eating alone. Because no one liked vanilla.

Just like how no one liked Stiles. At least not as anything more than a friend.

“So is this you two starting a relationship?”

He resisted the urge to snort, to scoff, to laugh maniacally at the insane suggestion that someone, let alone _Derek Hale-McCall_ , would enter a relationship with him. The guy might've been slumming it to help the Omega with his heat, but not enough to actually _date_ him.

“Nope,” he answered, popping the 'p'. “Just heat.”

The sheriff _did_ scoff, disbelief flooding his scent. “Really? You're fine with it _just_ being heat sex and not progressing into something more?”

“Yup.” Another pop of the 'p', another swirl in his syrup.

“You're a terrible liar, kid,” his dad commented with a laugh.

Stiles dropped his fork, raising his eyes to take in the amused sparkle in his dad's blue eyes, the curve of his smirk, the fond shake of the head that said he thought his kid was crazy but gosh, did he love that adorable insanity. Kids say the darndest things and all that.

It was kind of a little infuriating, especially since it meant he wasn't being taken seriously when he spoke.

For a change.

“Dad,” he started calmly, rationally, sitting up straight and leaning over the table with his hands held out to indicate how incredibly fucking serious he was at that moment. “Me and Derek will _never_ be like that. This week is all that will ever happen between us and I've accepted that. I'm fine with it.”

The sheriff let out a very undignified snort, his entire body rocking with it. “You're still lying your ass off,” he pointed out, finger stretched out in his son's direction before refolding his arms. “But I know there's no talking you out of any plan, no matter how crazy. Just know that I'll be here for you when you end up heartbroken.”

Stiles honestly wasn't sure how to take that. He was pissed he wasn't believed, upset his plan was implicated to be crazy, flabbergasted that his dad had already decided it would all end in heartbreak. Kinda kicked a guy in the self-esteem when spoken to like that.

Deciding to just shove aside any and all reactions, he slumped back in his seat, leg shaking beneath the table, thumb tracing a line in the wood. “Not gonna happen 'cause my heart's not involved.” Not _totally_ a lie, since he was planning on not having his heart involved. He'd had several discussion with said organ over the past day or so that it needed to sit on the bench for this one and just keep its feelings to itself. Nobody had time for its bullshit.

“Uh huh,” his dad placated, his tone completely sarcastic as he clearly still didn't believe a word he was saying. Not really anything new though. The older Stilinski had once commented that he hadn't believed a single word his son had said since he began speaking. Being a coyote just added to the mistrust really. “Sure. Well,” he began then paused, straightening up. His entire stance changed, his facial expression closing up, eyes hardening, and Stiles immediately recognized the shift into Sheriff Mode. “If you wanna spend the week at Derek's, then he's coming over here for dinner tomorrow night before you leave.”

Oh. Oh no.

No no no.

No way. Not happening. No, sir, not in this lifetime, absolutely not.

But, fuck, he didn't have a choice. Because his dad had wolfsbane bullets and handcuffs and could so very easily physical restrain his son and prevent him from leaving. Hell, even a well spoken command in a tough Alpha voice would be enough to keep Stiles from sneaking out and despite his dad's promise to never do that to his kids—regardless of their ABO orientation—there was always that chance that he'd change his mind if the situation warranted it. Desperate times and all that.

Stopping his son from getting laid by an Alpha was one of them.

Still, the thought of Derek being grilled by his dad—which would inevitably happen, no matter how close their families were and how well his dad already knew him—had his nerves making a loud return, one that was impossible to ignore. His heart started pounding and his stomach twisted and he just knew his scent was laced with anxiety.

Terrific.

“Dinner wi-with,with, with you?” Stiles stuttered, pointing at his dad, brows raised. There was nothing good about that plan at all. Because dinner with his dad meant dinner with the sheriff, his guns, his threats, and his tour of his gun cabinet, complete with a flourishing hand sweep as he showed off his wolfsbane ammo in a very Vanna White-like manner.

There was a reason why Stiles always met his date _at_ the place they were having their...date. What few dates he actually managed to get, of course. Hell, even his friends were well familiar with his dad's favorite guns and his interrogation techniques and there was zero romantic interest there.

Bringing the guy who was gonna be knotting him for a week over was just asking for trouble.

His dad nodded. “And your sister. And I'll think I'll have her invite Kira, too.”

Stiles did give in to the urge to snort at that one, the idea going from terrifying to somewhat ridiculous. “So the sheriff,” he ticked off with his fingers. “His two kids, and the people who'll be helping them through their heats all sitting down to dinner,” he summed up, shaking his head at the lunacy of it all. It sounded even crazier now that he'd spoken it out loud.

Grin on his face, his dad strode over, wrapping an arm around his son's shoulders and sighing happily. “Gotta love this family,” he said dreamily, Stiles twisting his lips, not entirely sure he'd agree with that at times. Yeah, his family fucking rocked and was pretty much the best family in the history of ever, but it wasn't because of their dinner plans for the next night.

Which was still fucking ridiculous and insane.

But Stiles had inherited his stubborn refusal to back down from stupid plans from someone and at that moment, he wasn't entirely sure he'd gotten it from his mom.

His dad slapped his shoulder twice before letting go and heading over to the coffee maker and his mug that he'd left there earlier. “Tell Derek about dinner,” he ordered in a dad voice rather than an Alpha one, taking hold of his travel cup and turning to face his son. He continued on as he crossed the kitchen towards the door that led to the living room. “And don't 'accidentally' forget,” he stated, using emphasis for air-quotes, something else Stiles clearly got from his old man. “Or tell me that you asked but he couldn't come or just tell him to refuse. Otherwise I will show up at his place and drag him here myself. In cuffs.”

Okay, the old man knew him too well if he had all of Stiles' tricks down. That, or the younger Stilinski was getting predictable.

He held his hands up in innocence, in a surrendering manner, leaning back in his chair with his head slightly tilted to the side, neck somewhat put on display. Instincts were a pain at times.

“Don't believe that either,” the sheriff commented from his place by the kitchen door, pointing at the teenager with the hand still holding his mug. “Dinner, tomorrow, Derek. I mean it.”

“I know,” Stiles nodded, giving him a thumbs up and a wink.

A fond but exacerbated sigh left his dad, blue eyes rolling upward for a brief moment before focusing on him once again. “I'll see you after work. Behave until then. Love you, kid.”

“Love you, too, Dad.”

The older Stilinski paused in the doorway, eyes fixated on his son for a long time, brow creased in concentration. Stiles opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out, confused about his dad's actions at that moment. Self-consciousness crept in and he began worrying that something was wrong, especially as his dad's scent turned into something much sadder. Without saying a thing, the sheriff turned away and left, boots heavy on the hardwood floor as he strode to the front door.

Stiles stayed put for a while, trying to figure out what the hell exactly had gotten into his dad before finally just shrugging it all off. If it was important, it would've been said or would come up later on. Until then, there wasn't really anything he could do.

Done with breakfast, he downed the rest of his coffee before gathering his dirty dishes. His uneaten waffles were dumped in the trash, plate rinsed then put in the dishwasher. He knew he should get started on his chores, but the conversation he'd just had was still plaguing his mind, still a buzzing irritating noise that he couldn't drown out.

Mainly the part about dinner.

He decided he'd just rip the band-aid off, quick and easy, drawing his phone out his pocket. Calling was an idea he quickly shoved aside, not entirely confident that he wouldn't chicken out, so he shot Derek a text instead.

Pussy way out, but whatever. It was done and his dad should be happy.

Stiles wouldn't be until that dinner was over. Nothing he could really do about that though except hope for the best and suffer through it all when the universe inevitably lets him down for the umpteenth time.

He rubbed at his stomach through his shirt, anxiety making him nauseous and his food not sit right. He was really dreading that upcoming meal just like he was dreading his heat. The next ten days or so were gonna be his own personal brand of Hell.

Awesomesauce.


	4. Chapter 4

“He just said 'ok'. What the fuck does that even mean? 'Ok'?” Stiles threw his hands out from his body in a spastic attempt to convey his frustration and confusion at the response he'd gotten from Derek regarding dinner with his dad.

Totally not the right response. At all.

Because it was dinner with _the Sheriff of Beacon County_. It required a bit more freaking out than just ' _ok_ '.

Not that Stiles wasn't doing enough freaking for about five people, but that wasn't the point. No, the point was that Derek's reply had been totally lacking in the anxiety department, meaning he wasn't understanding the gravity of the whole thing. So the Omega did the only logical thing he could think of and went to Scott's work to rant.

Really, what else were best friends for except to let you spazz and angrily ramble about anything and everything. Especially the topic of the current spastic angry ramble was said best friend's brother.

Stiles stood in the dog room with Scott, the Alpha currently more occupied with measuring the right amount of dry food and putting it in a bowl that watching his buddy's latest flail-out. With a huff, the Omega put his hands on his hips and gave the other man an expectant look, brows raised in a “well?” expression.

Scott finally turned to look at him, shrugging as he shook his head, lips parted. Dumbfounded as ever really. “Doesn't it mean that it's okay and there's no problem with it?”

The younger one's face fell, lips pressed together in a tight line, head bobbing in a “can't believe I gotta put up with this shit” manner. “Not helping, Scotty.”

“Dude, it's _Derek_ ,” he pointed out the obvious with a laugh and a smirk, placing the metal bowl of food in the dog's cage and shutting the door. “You're lucky you got an 'o' with the 'k'. It's more than he texts anyone else.”

More nodding. “So it's nothing. I'm freaking out over nothing because there's nothing to freak out about.”

“Basically,” the Alpha muttered as he bent down to scoop up more food from the twenty pound bag sitting on the floor.

Well that seemed pretty typical for how Stiles seemed to operate. Not that he'd ever admit to that.

Silence descended over the pair, Scott busy feeding the dogs, Stiles lost in about five different thought processes. There was a good chance Derek wasn't freaking out because it wasn't the first time he'd ever had a meal with the sheriff. The Stilinskis had been close with the Hale-McCall family since before Derek was even born, Stiles' mom having been high school best friends with his. Thanksgivings and Christmas dinners were shared between the two, a tradition kept up after the passing of parents and the divorcing of another—which, thank god, because that was too much alcohol and too much discomfort with Rafael around.

But still, those meals had been acts in sharing holiday cheer and good times. Their dinner tomorrow night? Not so much.

Maybe Derek was just that confident in himself that things would go well and that he'd impress the older Stilinski. Stiles wished he could share his optimism but he honestly had a feeling this meal would be as disastrous as the time the Alpha had invited his girlfriend Kate to join them and she'd spent most of the time subtly insulting him and bickering with Scott, when she wasn't implying that maybe she should be with a sweet little Omega like Stiles instead of a pig-headed Alpha like Derek.

'Course that didn't stop the guy from sharing his heat with her the following week.

Only for Stiles to never hear about her again.

Which really...

“Hey, so why did Derek and Kate break-up anyway?” he questioned, faking nonchalance. He made sure his scent was masked, that he didn't give anything away emotionally as he fiddled with the latch on an empty cage, when really he was pretty much dying inside from curiosity. Apparently, when it came to Derek, he needed to know damn near everything and turned into a nosy little shit because of it. Although that was pretty much par for the course with Stiles, too.

Scott sneered at the mention of his brother's ex, closing a cage and making sure the latch was locked tight. “Isn't the fact that she was kind of a bitch reason enough?” he asked back, brow furrowed in confusion.

Stiles just shrugged, staring at the latch, still pretending like it didn't matter either way, that he was just making polite conversation. The weather is great, summer vacation is going swell, Derek left his ex because...

“I dunno, dude,” Scott sighed out, gripping the back of his neck before dipping the measuring cup back in the food bag. “One week he's saying how she's helping him through his heat, next week he's telling us they split. Same thing happened with Jennifer.”

The Omega's eyebrows raised in surprise at that, turning his head to look at his friend as he scoop more food into another bowl. He'd understand breaking up with one girlfriend after a heat. Maybe something had gone wrong. Maybe being tied to her had made him realize that they weren't as compatible as they thought they were.

 _Two_ girlfriends on the other hand?

“So he breaks up with girls after they help him with his heat?” he summed up, leaning back against a wall and folding his arms over his chest.

“I guess,” Scott murmured, more focused on his job than the conversation. Which normally would be annoying, but was totally welcome at that point. Not paying as much attention to their discussion meant he wasn't as attuned to Stiles' emotions or his scent or looking too far into the reasons behind why Stiles was asking all this stuff in the first place.

“But I mean,” he continued in a firmer voice, more sure of his words and what he was saying. “It's not like he was using them _just_ for that, ya know? He was in relationships with them for a while before he asked to share a heat with them.”

Stiles nodded, straightening into a standing position. “So something happened during his heat that cause him to wanna break up with them?” he surmised, hand rotating as though it could help him work out his thoughts, his brain switching into detective mode. He always did love a good mystery and this was another case to solve.

“I guess,” Scott shrugged, still not fully paying attention to his friend.

The Omega began nodding more, repeatedly, lips pressed together as he thought it through. Maybe his earlier ideas had been right. Maybe spending that many days with the same person, and only that person, being tied to them, touching them, even just being around them, it was probably grating and annoying. There were several occasions during Stiles' groundings that his dad just let him off the hook and go outside because his constant presence in the house was driving his old man nuts. It was possible the same thing happened with Derek and his exes, that he just couldn't stand being around them anymore, realizing they weren't his mate, and he ended it with them.

Holy shit. Would that happen with Stiles? Everyone knew he was a hyperactive spazz who even drove Scott to the edge at times. Chances were he'd do the same thing to Derek, especially when they were stuck together—literally at times—for several days in a row. It would make anyone sick of another person. That person being a ADD-riddled basket case who talked more than he breathed just quadrupled the chance of you starting to hate them.

Derek's history of how he interacted with his heat partners—or didn't interact as it turned out—just led to the conclusion that he'd do the same with Stiles. Sure, they barely talked and it wasn't like they were super-close buds or dating or anything. A text on birthdays or other important dates, chit-chat during holiday meals, an occasional email link to something one of them thought the other might be interested in. But there was always the chance that even _that_ would stop, that Derek would act awkward around Stiles during those holidays, maybe even avoid him altogether and stop going. Because he didn't wanna see Stiles ever again or have anything to do with him.

Fucking terrific. Yeah, that sounded totally awesome.

Holy shit, his heat was seriously gonna ruin his life and totally fuck up what barely there relationship he already had with Derek.

“Stiles?”

Scott's voice snapped him out of his mental spiral, his head shaking as he cleared those thoughts away. “Huh? Yeah? What's up?” He forced a smile on his face, acting like everything was all good and nope, no terrible thoughts happening there, no sir, nuh uh.

The Alpha frowned, lips twisting to the side, deep in thought. “You and Derek aren't, like, dating, right? It's _just_ heat sex. Right?” he double-checked, concern dripping off every word. His dark eyes locked onto his best friend's, brows raised as he went full-on puppy dog, pleading with the other teenager to just go with what he was saying because anything else would be too terrible to handle.

Luckily for Scott, what he'd been saying was true.

Unluckily for Stiles, what his friend had been saying was true.

“Right,” he agreed, nodding.

A dimpled smile formed on Scott's face, last puppy at the pound replaced by sunshine on a cloudless day. “Then there's nothing to worry about,” he chirped, beaming widely.

Stiles snorted. “Except my hormones taking control of my body and my ass being penetrated and stretched wide over a knot,” he dead-panned, shrugging and shaking his head.

The Alpha grimaced briefly at the TMI before focusing on scooping food again. “Yeah, but people do that all the time and enjoy it,” he pointed out, pouring kibble into a bowl. “Allison likes it.” Now Stiles was grimacing and really, the oversharing between them was worrying at times. Even Malia repeatedly pointing out how weird and freaky it was. “And if it was this terrible thing then people wouldn't do it and our bodies would evolve so it's not so bad. Plus there wouldn't be all those pornos made about it.”

Stiles see-sawed his head, conceding the point while wondering when the hell Scott had gotten so wise. “True.”

The last bowl put away, Scott turned his sunshine smile back on his best friend. “Then don't worry about it so much. If you don't freak out as bad and just relax about it then you'll enjoy it and have fun.” His piece said, he turned away and started rolling the food bag closed, cleaning up.

The Omega rubbed at the back of his head, wondering if he even _could_ relax about it. Sure, having an actual heat partner had taken away _some_ of the stress and worry. At least there'd be someone there to make him feel less like crawling out of his skin and to make sure he didn't injure or permanently damage himself in any way.

Still. Knotting was scary. And while the idea of being fucked by and even tied to Derek was a fantasy that had him jacking off three times—and his sister beating on his door, telling him to cut it out because the hall was starting to smell like his come and desperation—being stretched like that was still nerve-wracking and a little worrying.

Okay, a _lot_ worrying.

Supplies put away, Scott scuffed his way over to Stiles, putting his hands on his best friend's shoulders and looking him dead in the eye. “It'll be fine, I promise,” he stated so earnestly that the Omega almost believed him. “Let's head to my place and get your mind off things with unnecessarily violent video games.”

A snort of a laugh gusted out of him, small smirk playing on his lips. “You're the best, man.”

Scott just beamed, slinging his arm around the younger man before the two made their way out the clinic towards their respective vehicles, both looking forward to the mindless actions of shooter games.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The best thing about video games was that it was a perfect distraction for a while.

The worst thing about video games was that eventually, you had to stop playing and those thoughts that were tormenting you before came roaring back, driving you insane once again.

Basically Stiles had been on the verge of a panic attack for nearly twenty-four hours. The only thing that prevented it from happening was the knowledge that Derek was gonna be there... soon, he wasn't sure exactly when, and that dinner still wasn't one-hundred percent ready.

Although really, that was adding to the anxiety of the evening. He'd kill for some help. Too bad he wasn't gonna get any, not in that house. Alphas tended not to be the best cooks really. And while he hated how that made him sound like a discriminatory bastard, it was kinda true. It just wasn't in Alpha natures to cook things. Bring home the food—or at least the money to pay for it, in modern times—but not prepare it. That was on the Omegas.

And sure, there were the rare Alphas who were incredible cooks, were head chefs at restaurants or even the restaurant owners, just like there were the rare Omegas who couldn't cook all that well. But in the Stilinski house, when it came to making food, everything was status quo.

Meaning they ate a lotta take out or had meals prepared by other people between the time when the Stilinski matriarch passed and when Stiles was old enough to handle the responsibility of making their meals.

Between that and his job, it wasn't a surprise his dad's cholesterol had been so high.

But being the sole meal maker meant everything fell on Stiles—except on holidays when he was more of a sous chef helping Mama McCall out during joint Stilinski-McCall-Hale dinners. Which meant there was more pressure on him to be a good cook and have everything be perfect, especially during a high stress meal when the guy who would be helping him during his heat would be eating with his dad.

No pressure at all.

He was gonna puke.

Just, please, not on the food.

“You're freaking out.”

Leave it to Malia to play the role of Captain Completely-Fucking-Obvious.

Stiles rolled his eyes, bent over in front of the oven, checking on the sweet potatoes he had baking. “Can't imagine why you'd think that,” he responded dryly, squeezing each foil wrapped spud with an oven mitt covered hand.

“Because your palms are obviously sweaty,” she stated matter-of-factly without even having _seen_ his hands. “Your scent is laced with anxiety to the point where it's hard to smell anything else. Your heart is pounding so loud we can't hear the TV in the living room. Plus you're making red meat for dinner in an obvious attempt to butter Dad up and put him in a better mood so he won't threaten Derek as much.”

Damn her.

Damn her to Hell.

Straightening up, Stiles closed the oven, tossing the mitt to the side before shuffling over to the stove. “I hate you,” he muttered, glaring at her as he passed.

She snorted, arms folded over her wrinkled _Incredible Hulk_ tee, clearly having dressed for the occasion when she paired it when a pair of cut-off jean shorts. Meanwhile, Stiles had agonized for a good hour over what to wear before deciding on a white button-down and slacks.

That he subsequently got grease on.

Leading to another freak out over what to wear before he realized he had no time and needed to just pick something, settling on light blue button-down instead.

Good thing he'd be spending most of his heat naked. Having to pick an entire week's worth of outfits would've caused an aneurysm.

Yeah, thinking about his heat was a terrible idea, considering the fact that all he could concentrate on was the fact that it started in two days.

He tugged at the collar of his shirt, trying to decide if he was feeling hot all over because he was standing over the stove or because he was inching closer to a panic attack.

No. No panic attacks. He didn't have time for a panic attack.

“No, you don't,” Malia stated, making him wonder if he'd actually said that out loud, only to realize she'd been responding to his previous declaration about hating her.

Which he actually kinda did.

“So,” she began louder than necessary, moving her hands to her hips and striking a Wonder Woman pose. “How can I help?”

A disbelieving laugh huffed out of him as he flipped a steak, holding the pan lid like a shield to protect his shirt from the splatter. “Oh no. No way. No help from you. You're a terrible cook.”

An offended noise left her, mouth gaping, brow creased. “Am not!” she argued, dropping her hands and stomping her foot. Suddenly they were five and she'd broken his action figure yet still claimed she was innocent when confronted by their dad.

The old man never fell for it, simply tapping his chest over his heart and giving her a “really, kid?” arch of the eyebrow. Her response had always been a huff as she crossed her arms and stuck her tongue out at Stiles like the whole thing had been his fault.

Stiles scoffed and peered up at his twin with an eyebrow cocked. “You managed to burn the outside of a lasagna and have the middle still be frozen,” he reminded her, still as flabbergasted as he had been when it happened. Because seriously, _how_?

“That was one time,” she insisted, finger held up for emphasis.

“Twice,” he argued back, holding up two fingers while still gripping a fork and feeling victorious when she dropped hers. “Miraculously enough.”

Malia rolled her eyes, flipping her hair over her shoulder before returned her fists to her hips. “Whatever,” she muttered, a clear sign she'd lost the argument but would never admit to being wrong. “At least I have Kira and she's a great cook.”

Stiles nodded in a placating manner, eyes focused on the frying pan below him, flipping the remaining steaks, mind gone. He wondered if Derek was a good cook, if he'd help in the kitchen or even make their meals every now and then, if they'd be tasty and well done. Yeah, he'd put a pizza in the oven and it was fully cooked and not burned, but it doesn't mean much.

Although Malia had put a frozen lasagna in the oven once, the results still memorable, even two years later.

Still, that fact made him even more curious about Derek's own skills in the kitchen, about whether that Alpha lived up to stereotypes or bucked the trend. He imagined himself in an alternate universe where the older man actually wanted him, would go out of his way to wine and dine him, with home-cooked meals and candlelit dinners at his place, romantic music playing lowly in the background. Everything would be perfect, conversation flowing, jokes being laughed at, Stiles being fed by the Alpha who'd cooked the incredibly delicious meal.

And then he'd wake up and be back in reality. Because the universe still hated him and liked to dangle what he wanted right in front of him—AKA the guy he wanted helping him through heat but not actually wanting to be with him—but not the exact way he wished it would happen.

Shit.

“So is Derek your mate?”

Stiles nearly dropped the lid, miraculously managing to only flail a bit and fling grease about.

Calmly, he put it back on top of the pan before grabbing a paper towel and cleaning up. “What?” he snorted, confused frown on his face.

“Your mate,” Malia repeated, arms folded over her chest again, facial expression similar to her twin's. Although Stiles was sure her's was more of a confusion over why he'd reacted how he had and found her question so outlandish. “Why else would Dad invite him to a family dinner?”

Another snort, this time in amusement, eyes being rolled. “It's more of a grilling heat partners over food than a family dinner.”

“He's not gonna grill Kira though.” It was a statement, but also sounded like a question, the confusion still fully evident on her face and in her voice, like she couldn't imagine their dad behaving that way to a girl who was pretty much all sunshine and puppy dogs and everything happy and joyful with the world.

Her endless positivity was both a marvel _and_ a nuisance.

“Because he knows her,” he pointed out, still cleaning the counter, practically scrubbing it at this point despite there being no need to be.

“He knows Derek,” Malia argued, brown eyes tracking his movement as he walked around the island counter where the stove was located, still cleaning. “Our moms were best friends, Dad still talks to Melissa, our families still spend holidays together. Hell, Derek used to babysit us and Scott. Pretty sure that counts as knowing a guy.”

Stiles winced, wiping splatter mess off the stove and being careful around the frying pan still sitting on a hot burner. “True,” he admitted, too distracted to think of disagreeing or denying anything just to spite her. “But he doesn't really _know_ Derek on a more personal level to the point where he'd be okay with me spending over a week there repeatedly being knotted.”

Oh god. He was gonna get knotted.

That thought had him stopping, lifting his head and staring straight ahead at nothing. Because his heat started in two days and he was losing his virginity in two days and his ass was being knotted in two days and he was freaking out and needed to stop.

Holy shit, where'd all the air go? Cause it certainly wasn't in that kitchen anymore, judging by the fact that his lungs weren't pulling in any oxygen.

Shit, fuck, shit.

His sister let out a non-committal “hmm”, shrugging her shoulders and pouting in a way that said she didn't think it was all that big a deal. Probably explained her outfit and the fact that she wasn't dressing nicely for the special occasion, instead just wearing whatever random thing she'd found at the bottom of the closet that smelled okay and wasn't _too_ badly wrinkled.

Not that Stiles ever did the same thing in his daily life but whatever, not the point.

“I just think he wants an excuse to show off his new Walther,” she decided, suddenly finding her nails fascinating, clicking them together as she picked dirt out from under one.

“Probably,” he murmured, returning to cleaning, trying to remember how many times he'd heard the phrase “same gun as James Bond” within the past week or so.

He rounded the island again, tossing the paper towel into the trash and reaching to tear off another before he realized what he was doing. The excessive cleaning, the insistence that everything look perfect and taste perfect and _be_ perfect, he wasn't just trying to make sure dinner went smoothly. No, he was trying to impress an Alpha by showing what a good little Omega he was and proving he could be a good homemaker and caretaker for him. It was his instincts running wild, his coyote trying to win over the wolf.

And all the while he'd thought he was kind of a poor excuse for an Omega, hated those of his kind who acted all meek and submissive and lowly, who only wanted to cook and clean and raise the pups, not giving any real thought to an _actual_ future outside of being mated. Granted Danny hadn't been like that, which Stiles loved the guy for because he figured they were like-minded Omegas, ones who saw themselves as more than just some Alpha's little bitch there to cater to his or her every whim.

Yet from his behavior that night, Stiles was acting like those who only wanted to stay at home and be a homemaker by proving he can do those very things. Shit.

“Hey,” Malia called for his attention, not continuing until he'd turned to face her. “Remember that time when Derek was babysitting us and he walked in on you mastur—”

“Malia!” he cut her off, feeling his face heat up with embarrassment. Leave it to her to bring that up and make him feel awkward.

Although really, he should be glad she did it at that moment rather than at dinner. Seemed like something she'd do if for no other reason than to just fuck with him.

“How old were you again?”

He turned his back on her, refolding the dishtowel that didn't need to be refolded. Honestly, he wasn't entirely sure which time she'd been referring to. Because he'd been a horny little bastard and discovering jerking off was a huge moment in his life—soon eclipsed by the joys of fingering himself—and he was prone to rubbing one out whenever he felt like it. And since he found out about the joys of self-love around the same time he'd realized he had a crush on Derek, he had a habit of running to the bathroom to jack off when being babysat.

Locking the door tended to be forgotten in a rush to get his pants down and his hands on—and/or in—himself. Meaning Derek had walked in on a couple different solo sessions.

Not that the guy ever said anything after it happened, just continued to act like he hadn't seen Stiles with his hand on his cock and a finger or two shoved in his ass. The Omega was never really sure if he was glad for that as it saved him from a shitload of humiliation or disappointed that the Alpha never offered to help him out.

But rather than admitting to any of that—to anyone ever—he shrugged and murmured “don't remember.”

She snorted and he could practically feel her eyes rolling. “You suck at lying.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, letting out a sigh. Like he hadn't heard that before. And recently.

“Derek!” his dad's voice drifted through from the front door, causing his head to jerk up.

Oh no. No no no.

No way could Derek be left alone with his dad. No way, no how.

“So good to see you! Can I take your jacket?”

Without thinking twice, Stiles raced around the island and his sister in a rush to get into the living room. He stumbled on a couch corner, knocked an end table out of place, nearly busted a lamp with his flailing arms but he made it to the front door where his dad was greeting their newly arrived guest.

Who was most definitely not a six-foot Alpha werewolf.

“Is what I would say if you were Derek,” his dad commented, smirking down at Kira, clearly pleased with himself over his prank.

Stiles huffed, hands on his hips as he breathed harder than usual, heart pounding from adrenaline, anxiety, and the sudden burst of exercise he'd just participated in. “Not cool, Pops.”

The sheriff's smirk grew, blue eyes sparkling as he turned to his son, closing the door before pointing to the end table Stiles had inadvertently knocked into. “Fix that.”

The younger Stilinski sighed, feet slapping against the hardwood as he tromped over and did as he was told before heading to the kitchen. He could hear Kira's motorcycle boots clomping behind him, smell her strawberry scent as she followed him, nearly got knocked over as Malia pushed past him in order to get to her mate.

He'd be more pissed if it wasn't so completely typical of her.

Cutting the stove off, he cocked an eyebrow at the pair in the room with him. Well, mainly at his sister, who had wrapped her arms around her tiny mate, head bent to nuzzle into her neck and was... purring? Seriously?

“She's like this in private, believe it or not,” Kira informed him, sheepish grin on her face, almost apologetic that Stiles had see them like that. “I think it's a scent-marking or -mingling thing. But with her heat so close, she's more cuddly and affectionate than usual.”

He slowly nodded once, turning away to give them the illusion of privacy. As his thoughts tended to do recently, they drifted to Derek, wondering if he was snugly like that during his own heats. He couldn't really picture the gruff, bearded, muscle-head Alpha behaving that way, but heat had a way of changing one's behavior and altering their personality. It was entirely possible that he spent part of his own heats cuddled up with Kate or Jennifer or even Braeden, holding them close, rubbing his cheek against them to mingle their scents, to mark them as his.

His coyote whimpered at that, at the thought and the imagined sight of the Alpha it wanted claiming someone else. Because it—and the human-half of him, he could admit to himself—wanted that for itself, wanted to be held close and be protected like that, to have Derek's body heat keeping him warm, to have Derek's scent all over him as a warning to everyone else that he was taken and who they'd be pissing off if they tried anything with him. He wanted tangled legs and arms wrapped around each other and hearts pounding against one another's bare skin. He wanted the two of them entwined with their scents mingled together so it was nearly impossible to tell which scent belonged to who.

And he was never gonna get it. Because Derek didn't see Stiles like that. He saw those females like that, sure, but Stiles wasn't them and he never would be.

He swallowed a hard lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat, biting his lower lip. His coyote's whimpers got louder, practically blocking out all other noises in the room. Pitiful really. The first person to show him any sort of intentions beyond kissing and he was getting attached, to the point where he was jealous over women he'd never met—aside from Kate, but he was purposely ignoring that fact given how terrible that entire thing had gone down—and longing for things they had. He needed to just face the fact that he was never gonna get anything more from Derek than just heat sex.

Although maybe if he played his cards right, he could get some post-coital cuddles. After all, they had to do _something_ while he was being knotted, right? Seemed like not cuddling while that was happening was nearly impossible.

Not exactly what he wanted, but he'd take it.

Sighing sadly to himself, Stiles opened the oven and pulled out the tray, placing it on the edge of the sink. Really, he needed to just focus on dinner. The steaks were pretty much done, just keeping warm on the pan. The sweet potatoes were all soft and ready to be cut into then prepared however each person preferred them to be. Things were going well. No need to fuck it all up with depressing shit.

With a firm nod, he set to work, unwrapping a potato and inhaling its delicious aroma. He'd always preferred sweet potatoes to regular ones. The fact that they were healthier was a definite plus and if he was spoiling his dad and his diet with steak, then the sheriff could make do with the more nutritional potato option, whether he liked it or not.

“Smells good.”

Holy shit!

The sound of Derek's voice had him flailing once again, foil-wrapped sweet potato flying out his hand.

Only to be caught by the Alpha, who calmly placed it on the baking tray and stepped back.

Stiles would actually be pretty damn impressed if he wasn't still internally freaking out over Derek's sudden appearance and the fact that he somehow managed to make an ass of himself in front of the guy. Again.

Such a fucking spazz.

And when his sister didn't actually say those very words, he raised his head, glancing over and discovering her still wrapped up in her mate. Small favors he supposed.

He wiped his hands on his slacks, clearing his throat, as he willed his heart rate to return to something closely resembling normal. When it was clear that wasn't about to happen, he turned and faced the newly arrived Alpha, inhaling sharply when he finally looked at the guy.

Because holy shit, Derek somehow kept managing to look better and better every time Stiles saw him.

He wore his usual painted on jeans—this pair black—matching button-down hugging his torso, framing his flat chest and large biceps. His outfit put everything on display. And he truly meant _everything_ , flushing furiously as his whiskey eyes drifted down and locked onto an impressive bulge at the front of his pants.

An impressive bulge he'd be able to check out without any denim obscuring the view before it was inside him. In two days.

Holy shit.

Tearing his eyes away, he forced himself to look at Derek's face. It was the only polite option really as he fought to get his arousal under control. But even that was difficult, since all he could think about was how that face would soon be right above his as the Alpha pounded into him, as he knotted him, as he tied them together and emptied himself inside him.

Holy. Shit.

Stiles' cock twitched in his slacks and his passageway got wetter and he had to fight the urge to drop to his knees or just bend over the counter and present himself.

Damn Omega instincts.

His coyote was practically salivating at the idea though and really, he kinda didn't see a problem with it, especially since in two days, they'd be having sex on a regular basis anyway so why delay it?

A throat was cleared to his left and he was hit with a sudden awareness of where he was and what was going on and holy shit, he just had those thoughts in front of his sister who was probably smelling his arousal.

Fucking hell.

He only just managed to not facepalm.

“Uh, Mal?” Kira began meekly, dark eyes flicking over to Stiles repeatedly while keeping her attention mainly on her mate. “Why don't we go set the table?”

Malia finally lifted her head, puzzled frown on her face, lips turned down on a pout. “The table's _been_ set,” she argued before rolling her eyes. “Unless Mama Stiles thinks there's something wrong with it.” With a flip of the hair, she turned her head and glared at her twin, lip curling back on a sneer. Stiles had a feeling that if she wasn't holding onto her mate, she'd be growling at him.

Ah, siblings.

Which, wait, she'd called him “ _Mama_ Stiles”. What the hell?!

He glared right back, letting the offense and anger leak into his scent. Fucking Omega stereotypes.

The lone fox in the room moved up to her tip-toes, cupping her girlfriend's chin and turning her head back to her. “I was making an excuse to give them privacy,” she whispered, despite everyone else having enhanced hearing and being able to hear it anyway. Her eyes widened and her brows lifted, giving the older female a pointed look that just told her to go along with it and not question her.

Malia sneered in a “what the hell” manner. “Why didn't you just say that?” she asked rhetorically, grabbing the smaller female's hand and nearly dragging her out the room, Kira waving her goodbyes out of politeness.

Leaving Stiles alone with Derek.

Oh god.

The Omega swallowed hard, tamping down his arousal and yelling at his brain to keep the x-rated thoughts to itself, an order that barely even made sense to himself. His coyote was jumping around in joy, tail excitedly wagging at the realization that it was now alone with his Alpha.

No, not his Alpha. Or _their_ Alpha. Just _an_ Alpha that was helping them out during a delicate time, that was it, nothing more.

And didn't that just drain the arousal out the whole thing.

Finally feeling like he was in control of himself and his emotions, he turned to face the older man, ready to apologize for his sister's weird behavior. Like he'd been doing for pretty much his entire life really.

Only the words never came out once he set his eyes on Derek.

The Alpha's hands were clenched into fists by his sides, his muscles strained, tensed. His eyes were shut tight and his entire body was trembling like he was holding himself in place for some reason.

Stiles felt the overwhelming urge to walk over and soothe him, to run his hands over the older man's flanks or through his hair. He knew an Omega had a calming effect on Alpha's, that they'd even been known to tame feral ones. And while Derek hadn't reached that point, he could still be helped out by Stiles' closeness and his touch.

But that wasn't Stiles' place to do that. Derek wasn't his and therefore not his to touch or soothe, not without it being asked first. So instead, he remained in his spot, licking his lips before speaking.

“You okay?” he inquired, glad his voice was more concerned than shaky, that his own attempts at holding himself together—and keeping his coyote at bay—weren't leaking into his words.

Derek took a deep breath, exhaling a “yeah” before slowly opening his eyes. But the tension was still there in his tightened muscles and the hard lines on his face, the way his smile was strained and didn't quite reach his eyes.

Stiles just cocked an eyebrow, figuring that was response enough.

Sure enough, the Alpha sighed, relenting. “Should I be worried that your dad has a gun on his belt?” he questioned, pointing behind himself at the living room with his thumb.

The Omega shrugged a shoulder, walking over to the potatoes once more, not seeing the big deal. Then again, his dad having a pistol of some description on his person was a daily sight he was used to and to any guest of the house, it was probably a little jarring.

“He's always carrying, even when he's off-duty,” he explained, unwrapping the sweet potatoes as he spoke. “Protection and all that.”

“So I shouldn't be nervous and think that he's gonna put it on the table during dinner and threaten me with it?”

Potatoes unwrapped, Stiles began placing one on each plate, making sure the Alphas got the biggest ones. “Honestly?” he breathed out, wincing slightly and feeling relieved that his expression couldn't be seen by the older man. Not exactly a reassuring look and he still felt that earlier urge to soothe the guy. “No clue.”

Because _that_ was reassuring.

“I've never had a, uh.” He faltered, face screwing up as he tried to think of the right term for what Derek was to him. “Heat partner” seemed crass, “date” implied actual _dates_ , “boyfriend” was nowhere near appropriate. “Guy who's gonna take my virginity and knot me about five-hundred times” was definitely a no-go. So he settled on the one thing he thought was halfway decent. “A prospective partner over for dinner before.”

Once he had the potatoes dished out, he carried the plates to the island, making several trips, then took the lid off the pan. Derek still hadn't moved, but his facial expression had finally changed from something strained and held back to something more confused.

Although what was confusing about what Stiles had just said was beyond Stiles' own comprehension. Really, it was pretty straight forward. Stiles had never brought a girl or guy over for dinner before. Boom, end of story.

“Really?” the Alpha asked dubiously, adding to Stiles' own confusion. “So you've never dated before?”

Okay, what?

How...whatever.

“No, I've been on dates, kinda had a girlfriend at one point,” he clarified, grabbing the fork and lifting one of the steaks, letting the grease drip off onto the pan. A sharp spicy scent hit his nose and he wondered where the hell it came from, feeling pretty sure it wasn't anything he'd added to the steaks. Mentally shrugging it off, he continued. “There was never anyone I ever felt like was important or special enough to invite over for family dinner.” He wrapped it up with an actual shrug, putting the steak on a plate before grabbing another.

The spicy scent went away, replaced with Derek's cinnamon one. “Until me?”

Another shrug, another steak on a plate. “Well, my dad made me invite you, so.” He ended the sentence, not really having anywhere to go with that thought.

“So, I'm _not_ special?”

Stiles lifted his eyes at that, at the hurt yet hopeful tone of the Alpha's voice. Derek wasn't looking at him, brow drawn, his own green orbs trained on the ground. He almost looked like a puppy who'd had his bone taken away and Stiles just wanted to wrap him up in a blanket and give him all the toys in the world.

Ya know, if he _was_ a puppy. It would just be weird to do that to a grown man.

Right?

Yes, totally, weird as hell.

Setting his fork down, he rubbed the back of his neck, wondering where exactly this self-conscious Derek had come from, why he seemed so needy for reassurance. The Derek he'd known growing up had always been confident, self-assured, had always known he was the shit and that everyone else had better recognize that very fact. This wasn't that same Derek.

And Stiles had no idea what to do with him.

His Omega instincts were running wild with the need to soothe him. His coyote was whimpering at seeing the other male so upset. And his heart was screaming at him to say that yes, he _was_ special, so very fucking special and, god, was Stiles in love with him and he was the most specialest special person in his life and he wanted to keep him forever, not just the next week or so.

But he couldn't say that or give in to those urges. Because that wasn't what they were. Nor would it ever be.

“You are, man,” he insisted lowly, making sure to add on the generic nickname in a lame attempt to keep it casual, to not have the other guy misinterpret and think there was more meaning behind those words. It was just one dude reassuring another in a friendly manner, that was all. “But I mean,” he continued, dropping his hand with a slap to the thigh. “This is just about my heat, right? After this, we go back to how things were between us. Except maybe with more frequent calls or something. Right?”

Derek's scent completely cut off, but a small smile formed on his face. He was placated, at least a little, and no longer resembled that saddened puppy. Stiles wondered what exactly it was with Hale-McCall men and resembling puppies.

“Right,” the Alpha agreed, nodding.

Stiles wasn't sure if he liked that he was agreed with. Because he liked being right, who didn't? It was awesome. But he also wanted Derek to turn around and argue and insist that it wasn't _just_ heat sex for him, wasn't _just_ helping Stiles out, but a way for them to be together and hopefully have things progress to the next level with them.

Although really, them being in the same room and actually conversing was kinda the next level for them, considering the previous status of their relationship was awkward sporadic communication via electronic devices and no actual voices.

Awesome.

The Omega forced a small smile on his face, carrying the now empty pan to the sink and running cold water into it to cool it down. He took a moment to gather himself and get his shit together, not turning around until he felt like he could handle things.

Derek still hadn't moved from his spot, hands still clenched by his sides, scowling at the floor like it'd pissed him off somehow.

“C'mon,” he prompted, stepping back to the island counter and grabbing two plates. “Help me carry this shit through?”

“Sure.” The Alpha nodded once slowly, grabbing the remaining three plates before following Stiles to the dining room. Which was empty.

Seriously, where the hell had Malia and Kira disappeared to? And did he actually _want_ to know?

He yelled out “Dinner!”, deciding that if no one showed, it was their own fault and deserved to go hungry. His dad entered soon after, complete with reprimand about his screaming throughout the house. Like he wasn't used to it, really.

Kira and Malia showed up soon after, appearing slightly rumpled, but Stiles had seen them look worse—unfortunately for him. Seats were taken, plates put in their rightful spot, everyone glancing about as though not sure what to do next.

God, this dinner was gonna be awful. Stiles just knew it. It was a gut feeling that had his coyote pillowing its head on its paws and whimpering lowly and the human wishing he could slither under the table and hide forever. Not an option though, hadn't been since he was a kid. Which sucked, especially in situations like that where the tension was so thick it would be harder to cut into than the steak on his plate.

Derek reached over from his place on Stiles' right, taking the bread basket the older Stilinski held out to him. Inhaling deeply, the Omega got a lungful of his scent, the cinnamon-tinged aroma instantly calming him and soothing his coyote. He felt the tightness leaving his own muscles, felt his body relax and his mind quiet, heart beating steadily.

Feeling a lot more calm than before, he swiped a roll off Derek's plate and ignored grumbled comments about how he thought coyotes only scavenged food once the wolves were done with it.

~*~*~*~*~*~

For the second time in three nights, dinner was awkward. At least this time it wasn't _entirely_ Stiles' fault.

Conversation was stilted, forced, keeping mainly to safe topics like the weather, Stiles being accepted to Stanford and Derek bringing up how he'd just graduated from there, resulting in a pointed look from his dad. Which he clearly ignored. Kira immediately switched the topic to her own acceptance to UC Berkeley and Malia's plans to attend with her, despite her parents' wishes that she'd attend NYU like they had.

“I like the weather better here,” she explained with a shrug, poking at her salad. “I'd rather not have to trudge through a foot of snow to get to class.”

The sheriff grilled Derek about where he was living, who he was living with, eyebrow cocking at the fact that he was living with an Omega, only for it to go back down at the mention of Isaac's name. Clearly there was something deeper there that Stiles wasn't aware of and while he was dying to pry and find out what it was, he kept his mouth shut, figuring that wasn't the time or place.

Derek also told about his job at his uncle's auto repair shop, which was how he was able to get time off on such short notice. Stiles had ducked his head in apology at that, only to perk right back up.

“Your dad's brother, right?” he blurted out the question. “The creepy guy who always has this smirk on his face like he's plotting something devious and knows how to do it without going to jail?” It wasn't until after the words had left his mouth that he realized he was probably offending the Alpha by insulting his family, his _pack_ , the one connection he still had to his late father.

But if the wolf was upset by it, he didn't show it, instead sighing resolutely and nodding. “Yeah, that's Uncle Peter,” he murmured, sounding like he was used to hearing that kind of description about his relative and also kinda agreed with it.

Which apparently was cue for Malia to launch into some rumor she'd heard about Peter hiding body parts in the oil well under the shop, a story Derek neither confirmed nor denied.

Stiles made a mental note never to visit him at work. Just in case.

Dessert was a store bought cake, since he hadn't had the time to make one himself, conversations soon shifting to his dad doling out warnings to Derek about taking care of Stiles and making sure no harm came to him. The Alpha was so solemn and serious when he promised nothing bad would happen to him that the teenager once again found himself wondering what had happened to him during his own heats to make him behave that way. The sheriff mentioned he was working a morning shift on Sunday, but would be home around dinner, Derek stating he'd have Stiles back by then. Stiles pouted at his cake, hating how he was being discussed without actually taking part of the conversation and wondering if all Omegas had to deal with that.

It fucking sucked.

Everyone helped to clear the table, Malia put on dish duty since Stiles had cooked and whining about it, until Kira volunteered to help her out. Stiles raced up to his room and double-checked he had everything he would need, pacing around his room to make sure all chargers had been packed and other electronics had been switched off. Satisfied he was ready—at least physically and materialistically—he grabbed his duffel and his pillow then headed downstairs.

Only to find everyone gathered in the living room waiting on him.

Derek was waiting by the base of the stairs, eyes narrowing curiously at the pillow Stiles clutched to his chest.

The Omega cleared his throat, feeling awkward and a little embarrassed. “Can't sleep without it,” he admitted lowly, thinking he sounded like a little kid with a safety blankey or something. And maybe he was, maybe it was some sorta security device for him, a way to feel better about things, to feel more comfortable with whatever strange environment he was in so he could feel at peace and drift off to sleep.

Derek shrugged like it wasn't a big deal, not seeming to have any problem with it, not arguing over how he had pillows at his place and they'll suffice, not ordering Stiles to grow up and ditch the baby behavior. “Whatever makes you more comfortable,” he genuinely stated, eyes glancing to the side briefly. “I'll put your stuff in the car while you say goodbye.”

Stiles nodded, handing his pillow and bag over to the older man, appreciative smile on his face for more than just having him take care of his belongings. Putting the stuff in the car was an excuse and they both knew it; Derek was giving him a moment to say goodbye.

His dad stopped the Alpha from leaving with a hand on his shoulder, blue eyes narrowed into a glare as he pointed a finger in his face in warning. “Take care of him,” he ordered, allowing his own Alpha nature to leak into his voice. “I know what car you drive and can easily find where you live and I will make your life hell if you don't do right by him.” He ended his warning with a flash of red eyes and claws, reminding the wolf that he wasn't the only supernatural creature there capable of ripping someone apart.

“Dad!” Stiles objected, feeling his face heat up in embarrassment, eyes wide as he stared at his old man in disbelief.

“That won't be necessary, sir,” Derek replied calmly, neither Alpha male paying the Omega any attention. “I'll make sure Stiles is well taken care of.”

“Good,” the sheriff grunted, removing his hand from the wolf's shoulder and holding it out toward him instead.

Derek shook it, nodding once in respect, before waving goodbye to Kira and Malia, who simply glared and growled her own warning. With a nod toward the lone female Stilinski in acknowledgment, he turned and left the house, closing the front door behind himself.

Stiles sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, wondering if all Omegas had to deal with families like his. Sure, he could understand the Alpha need to protect what's theirs, especially when it's a stereotypically weak Omega, but his dad and sister took it to a whole 'nother level.

Running his hand through his hair, he turned to face them, narrowing his eyes at his sister. Malia shrugged it off, bobbing her eyebrows to show that she had zero regrets for what she did and that there was nothing Stiles could do or say to change her mind.

It was the broken action figures all over again.

With a fond eyeroll, he stepped over to her, hugging her tight as she whispered creative threats involving Derek's dick and the game of fetch.

Yeah, he wasn't passing _that_ nugget of info on.

He placated her with a “yeah, yeah” though, knowing he wasn't gonna get away with not saying anything, kissing her cheek before pulling away. “Love ya, sis.”

“Love you, too, loser.” They both stuck their tongues out at each other before wearing matching grins, Malia winking as she told him to have fun.

He ignored his blush as he moved on to Kira, hugging her and kissing her cheek. “Make sure you keep my sister in her place,” he stage-whispered, shooting a look at his twin, who rolled her eyes.

Kira giggled in his ear and nodded. “Good luck this week,” she told him once they parted, grin falling, eyes widening in panic before she launched into a ramble. “Not that you really _need_ luck since it's mostly, ya know?” Her eyes darted about before she leaned forward and whispered the word “sex” then continued on in her usual volume. “But I hope it all goes well and smooth and you enjoy it and have fun.”

Stiles wasn't sure if that was better than just 'good luck' but thanked her nonetheless, giving her a smile and wishing her the same before moving on.

His dad stood near the door, arms folded over his dark polo, face scrunched up in a wince of sorts. He looked torn between saying goodbye and wanting to keep Stiles at home, muscles in his arms tight, fingers clenched into fists. The Omega stepped closer, stopping a few inches away, hands shoved in his pockets as he pressed his lips into a hard line. It was awkward, tense, weird, way too heavy for just a goodbye, for just Stiles leaving for a week. It was like he was going away for an unknown amount of time, some undetermined period that was only described as “a while”.

He shuddered to think how things were gonna be when he left for Stanford.

“I wish your mom was here so she could tell me it's perfectly normal to hate this and hate that you're grown up,” the sheriff confessed, sadness tainting his scent, turning his coffee-aroma into something wetter and saltier.

Stiles swallowed hard, finding it difficult to look at his dad when he wore that expression, when his eyes were so shiny and his wrinkles seemed deeper than ever. The loss of Claudia still weighed heavy on every member of the Stilinski family, even after eleven years had passed, and her lack of presence was felt more than usual at that moment. Stiles had found himself wishing his mom was around more often recently, wishing he had her understanding and kindness, wishing he had an Omega parent who could relate to him and what he was going through at that moment. Maybe he'd feel less nervous about the whole thing, more reassured that things would be okay and that he had nothing to worry about. Maybe he'd feel less like he was off to the firing squad and more on his way to becoming a man.

A sad smile formed on his face as he met his dad's eyes, rocking back on his heels and shrugging. “I'm sure that's perfectly normal,” he stated, figuring it had to be true that all parents had trouble letting their kids go. At least that's how it seemed on TV. He wouldn't exactly have first hand experience, considering he hadn't raised any children of his own.

His dad nodded, seeming to agree with him. His face then shifted into Sheriff Mode, eyes narrowed and jaw tensed, finger pointed in warning again. “You make sure Derek knows how many guns I own and how much wolfsbane ammo I have.”

“Oh my god, Dad,” Stiles groaned, closing his eyes as his head tilted back, face to the ceiling as he wished himself away and wished his dad wasn't so... dad.

“And that if he mistreats you,” he continued, not caring about his son's discomfort or disbelief. “I will use it on him and make it look like an accident.”

The Omega opened his eyes and gave his dad a hard look, expression as unamused as he felt. “I am _not_ telling him that.”

The older Stilinski sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck before crossing his arms. His face fell again, blue eyes turned down at the corners, lips pulled back in a wince of sorts. “Be careful, okay? And make sure he takes care of you and doesn't do anything you don't like or don't want him to do.” His words managed to sound like a suggestion and a threat at the same time, a feat only he was capable of, and Stiles held back on rolling his eyes solely due to respect at his dad's skill.

“He won't,” he insisted, knowing without a doubt that Derek would never do anything like that.

“Just make sure he knows that 'no' means 'no'.”

“Okay, Dad,” he placated, knowing that, like Malia, he needed to agree somehow or the conversation would keep going until he did.

Reaching forward, his dad pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, smothering his son against him. Stiles wrapped his arms around the older Stilinski, both men slapping the others back. “Love you, kid,” his dad told him, pressing his lips to his brown hair.

“Love you, too, Dad.”

“Be careful.”

“I will.”

Another couple thumps to the back and the two parted, the sheriff keeping his hands on his son's shoulders as he gave him a long look, sad expression still on his face.

Stiles forced a reassuring smile on his face, hiding his scent. Smelling nervous wasn't gonna help make his dad feel better about his decision to let his only Omega child go stay with an Alpha for a week during his heat. But he couldn't help feeling that way. Because it was his first time spending more than a few days away from home without his dad and on top of that, it was for his heat. Who the fuck knew what was gonna happen over the next week or so—other than the obvious of getting laid and knotted. Any number of things could go wrong and while he was still one-hundred percent sure Derek would never hurt him, accidents still happened. Even the Alpha had pointed out that Stiles was prone to klutzy incidents and somehow managed to get hurt in ways that no one else was capable of. So really, it didn't matter how well Derek took care of him; he was still capable of being harmed somehow.

Totally reassuring thoughts for everyone involved.

He said his final goodbyes to everyone, waving at Kira and Malia, giving his dad another smile, before turning and heading out. Closing the front door behind himself felt final in a way that it never had before and he had to take a deep breath to steady his frayed nerves.

Derek was leaning against the passenger side of his Camaro as it sat parked along the side of the street at the edge of the Stilinski lawn, eyes trained down at his boots, ankles crossed. He lifted his head when he heard the Omega approaching, not fully straightening up until Stiles was only a couple feet away, opening the door for him.

Stiles bobbed his head at him in thanks before getting in the car, Derek shutting the door then rounding the engine and sliding in behind the wheel. Seat belts on and engine started, the Camaro was moved away from the edge of the lawn and headed off down the street.

The twosome rode in silence for several minutes, Stiles staring out the passenger window and watching the world pass by. An eighties rock station played lowly in the background and he got lost in memories of his mom playing Van Halen's _Jump_ while he and Malia bounced on the couch, the elder female dancing along with them from her place on the floor.

He shoved the flashback aside, deciding that wasn't the time nor the place for bittersweet nostalgia. Checking in with his emotions, he made sure his scent didn't give anything away, that he wasn't projecting any sadness or longing that could be misinterpreted as regret over his decision to go to Derek's for his heat, or even spend it with the Alpha at all.

“By the way,” the older man started then paused, focusing more on turning onto a different street.

Stiles whipped his head toward him, eyes wide, heartbeat kicking up slightly as he worried over what exactly the Alpha was about to say. Really, just about anything could be coming out his mouth, ranging from Isaac not staying with Boyd and Erica as originally planned to Derek deciding he wasn't actually gonna help Stiles out, just let him stay in his room and deal with the urges by himself.

He wasn't entirely sure which one was worse.

Swallowing hard, he braced himself for anything, still managing to be caught completely off-guard when Derek finally completed his sentence.

“You don't need to tell me about your dad's guns and ammo.”

Oh.

Oh shit.

Stiles winced, his entire face scrunching up as he sank down in the seat, shoulders hunched forward. He inhaled sharply through gritted teeth, holding the air in his lungs as he spoke. “You heard that, huh?”

“Yep,” the older man replied in that impassive tone that was unfortunately becoming a little too familiar. But luckily, he managed to let some emotion leak into his voice, his scent shifting to something content and even a tiny bit proud. “But I'm glad you know that I won't hurt you or do anything you don't want me to.”

The Omega shrugged it off, the Camaro rolling to a stop at a red light. “Like I said, I wouldn't have asked you if I thought you would.”

Brow drawn in thought, the driver nodded, more to himself than in response to anything his passenger said. “Still,” he began, pausing briefly to lick his lips. “I'm glad you trust me.”

Stiles didn't even hesitate to say “I do”.

The corner of Derek's lips perked up in a semblance of a smile, eyes still facing forward the light switched to green and he moved his foot from the brake to the gas.

Stiles couldn't help but think that maybe that was a metaphor for how their relationship was also shifting gears at that moment. Or at least a moment very soon.


	5. Chapter 5

Derek's apartment was cleaner than it had been the last time Stiles had hung out there. It smelled like it'd been recently vacuumed, the lack of dust scent meaning everything had been wiped down, too. The DVDs were straightened up, the coffee table clear of clutter, throw pillows upright and in their proper place. It was obvious that the Alpha had spent some time neatening the place up, instincts probably telling him to provide a nice environment for his Omega—well, not _his_ Omega, but the point remained. Derek had gone out of his way to make the place nice and comfortable, making sure his guest would enjoy his stay there.

Was almost enough to make a guy drop to his knees, bare his neck, and declare his undying love.

 _Almost_.

The whole “unrequited feelings” put the kibosh on that.

Derek toed his shoes off and left them by the door, Stiles following suit before being led on a tour of the apartment. They began by heading straight into the kitchen, the older man pointing out where dishes were and what food and drinks he had, telling the Omega to just help himself to whatever. Stiles noted a lot of healthy this and organic that, free-trade coffee and vegan hot cocoa. But mixed within all the good for you stuff he tried to get his dad to eat more of, was a lotta junk: spicy Cheetos, Pop Tarts, Little Debbie snack cakes. Basically, stuff that didn't fit in with the rest of the low-fat, high-protein food that filled the rest of the shelves.

“What's up with the junk food?” he questioned, pointing to a box of snickerdoodles stashed between a bag of Baked Tostitos and a box of Nilla Wafers.

The Alpha shrugged a shoulder, hand still holding the cabinet door open. “I asked Scott what you liked so I'd have a better idea of what to buy,” he explained, impassive voice back. Again. “He said you'd live on Pop Tarts if you could.”

The younger man smirked, spying a couple boxes of the breakfast pastries on a higher shelf. “He's not wrong.”

The tour continued into the living room, Derek pointing out game systems, the remotes that worked the electronics, the DVDs lining the shelves to the side of the entertainment unit. Stiles took a moment to read a few of the titles, eyes going wide when they came across a particular boxset.

“The entire _Star Wars_ saga?!” he gasped, turning big eyes and gaping lips to the other man.

Derek grimaced, hand rubbing the back of his neck as the tips of his ears went red. “Yeeeeah,” he stretched the word out as though he was reluctant to admit he owned it.

Which, Stiles didn't really understand. Because _Star Wars_ was the greatest gift humanity had ever received and he still couldn't believe Scott had never seen any of them. But there was the guy's older brother, owning the extended edition of the movies and putting them proudly on display for everyone to see.

It was beautiful.

“Oh, we are _so_ watching those between rounds,” he declared, eyes scanning the rest of the films. “And _The Clone Wars_ movie and TV show.”

Relief flooded Derek's scent, the corner of his lips pricking up in a small grin of sorts. “Whatever you want.”

Stiles smiled even wider. “Damn straight,” he joked with a wink, turning his attention back to the movies. “Dude, you have _all_ the _Star Trek_ films, too? And _Lord of the Rings_? And _Indiana Jones_?”

Nodding, the older man cleared his throat, blush spreading so the rest of his ears were bright red, the color slowly creeping to his face. Another thing Stiles didn't fully understand. His collection was a nerd's dream and definitely not something to be embarrassed about. Hell, if he could, he'd stash about half of it in his duffel and hightail it outta there.

But since he couldn't, he just settled for saying the one thing on his mind. “I'm marrying your DVD collection.”

Derek snorted, arms folding over his chest. “I'm objecting at your wedding then.”

He turned to the Alpha, scowl on his face, finger pointing at him in a warning manner that admittedly reminded him of his dad and he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that. “Hey, man,” he objected. “Don't stand in the way of true love.”

Green eyes were rolled before Derek motioned to the left with his head. “C'mon. I'll show you my room,” he stated, stepping towards the direction he'd pointed out only to stop and turn back to his guest. “Our room. I guess. For the week, it's our room anyway.”

Stiles nodded, adjusting his duffel strap over his shoulder and masking his scent. Because the phrase “our room” coming from Derek's mouth was way too much for him to handle, his coyote wagging its tail excitedly at the thought of sharing something with the Alpha. The way it made his stomach flip was easily hidden, but he couldn't do anything about the way his heartbeat sped up. All he could do was hope it was interpreted as nerves over what exactly would be happening in that room.

Repeatedly.

Over a week.

Because heat and sex and _Derek_ and oh god!

Okay, now he didn't have to fake the nerves.

Swallowing, he followed the Alpha into his room, part of him realizing what a momentous thing this was. Because Alpha's generally didn't let just _anyone_ into their room, their _territory_ for no good reason. Sure, he'd been in Scott's room, but the guy was practically a brother to him. And Malia was his actual sister so being in her room wasn't a big deal either. But this was Derek, a guy who'd been in the periphery of his life for so long, a guy who used to growl threats at Stiles, Scott, and Malia to stay out his room back when they were younger. To be allowed in now, when Derek was fully mature and his wolf instincts were stronger than ever, it was pretty fucking major.

And when the door was opened and Stiles stepped inside, it became even bigger.

His walls were white and carpet beige, just like the rest of the apartment. The double bed was on the wall opposite the door, black sheets and pillowcases covering it, matching the black headboard and nightstands on either side of it. The wall on the right featured a black desk set beneath a double-window, tall bookshelves on either side. On the wall with the door, was the sliding ones that led to a closet—both closed at the moment—and a bureau with a TV sitting on top, black like the everything else. And while the furniture was pretty uniform and not all that spectacular, what was decorating the place was.

The walls were decorated with posters, a Camaro one above the bed, _Revenge of the Sith_ and a Vader one on the wall to the left, a poster with every _Star Wars_ character—major or minor—above the TV. The corner across from the door had a Death Star pinata hanging from the ceiling, miniature TIE-fighters dangling around it. The desk held a closed laptop and a Darth Vader mask, twelve-inch Vader figurine on the opposite corner.

“Uh, Der?” Stiles questioned cautiously, stepping further inside the room and being careful not to drop his stuff on accident. “Are you a closet _Star Wars_ geek?” He slowly turned to the man standing in front of his desk, arms folded, slight grimace on his face and red tinge to his ears.

“Not. _Closeted_ , no,” he reluctantly admitted, once again embarrassed by his stuff while the Omega was wondering when the hell he'd died and gone to Geek Room Heaven.

He let his strap slide down his arm, his duffel landing on the floor by the door, dropping his pillow on top of it. With wide eyes and gaping mouth, he wandered around, inspecting the bookcases closer. The top two shelves on each case were covered with _Star Wars_ action figures, each one posed as though they were caught mid-motion. Han had his arm around Leia, Luke was in a lightsaber battle with Vader as the Emperor watched from the sidelines, while Chewie, C-3PO, R2D2 and the Ewoks—he seriously had Ewok action figures—battled several stormtroopers. Another shelf featured Boba Fett standing by Han frozen in carbonite, disguised Leia and Lando to the other side of a lounging Jabba the Hutt, with a giant Rancor in the background. There was an entire shelf of Jedis, all in a circle as though in a council meeting, Anakin battling a young Obi-Wan right below, Dooku battling Yoda, with Qui-Gon and Darth Maul both laying down to the side. On top of one of the cases was a Lego Death Star, the other holding a precariously perched Millenium Falcon made for the action figures, complete with another Han and Chewie behind the controls, Luke hanging on with one hand.

Stiles took it all in, inspecting all the figures, noting some he'd never actually seen in stores anywhere. It was glorious and he found himself filled with envy and awe all at the same time.

“Yeah,” he blurted out, licking his lips as his eyes roamed the shelves further. “I'm entering a polygamous marriage with your DVDs and your action figures.”

Derek's only response was a snort.

The younger man continued scanning the shelves, focus now on the books. One case held classic novels, books Stiles had been required to read for various Lit classes, old textbooks Derek had obviously bought for college courses, dictionaries for different languages. The second case continued more “reading for fun” kinda books: _Star Wars Expanded Universe_ novels, novelizations of the movies, _Star Trek_ stories, the _Twilight Zone_ original stories that the episodes came from.

One title caught his eye, Stiles pulling it from the shelf. His lips pressed together in a tight line to hold back a smirk and he could barely contain his laughter as he spoke. “Is this a _Klingon_ dictionary?”

Derek immediately pushed away from the bureau he'd been leaning on, snatching the book away from his guest who lost the battle with his grin and his giggles. “Shut up,” he grit out, glaring despite the blush covering his ears and his neck, creeping over his cheeks.

Stiles just laughed more, further amused by the older man's embarrassment and the way he was clutching the book close to his chest. “You are such a dork!” All he got in return was another glare. “Why Klingon though? Seriously?”

The Alpha shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, ducking his head. “I already speak Spanish, French, and Latin. Learning Klingon seemed fun.”

“ _Major_ dork.”

His head snapped up, glare back. “You play _World of Warcraft_. You have _zero_ room to talk.”

“Oh, I know I'm a dork,” Stiles clarified, hand on his chest. “I freely admit I'm a dork. And as a dork, I am fully qualified to declare that you, too, are a dork.”

“Good,” the darker haired male scoffed before returning his book to its rightful place, in amongst his other _Star Trek_ books and before the beginning of his Chuck Palahnuik collection. Somehow _Fight Club_ seemed to fit Derek and his personality rather than _The Lego Star Wars Encyclopedia_.

Although _Fight Club_ didn't come with a free Lego Han Solo, so there was that downside.

Done with the bookcases, Stiles turned away, coming face to face with the bed. The sheets smelled clean, the scent-free allergen friendly gentle sorta laundry smell that seemed to be easier for supernatural noses to handle. Stiles had once made the mistake of using a free sample of detergent that had come in the mail and he, his dad, and Malia had spent two days with agitated noses and grumpy personalities after sleepless nights caused by the overabundance of manufactured smells. The Omega was just glad he'd only used the stuff on their bedding and that it was easily washed out with their usual scent-free detergent.

“I washed the sheets today so they're fresh,” Derek pointed out unnecessarily, looking awkward but smelling a little proud of himself. Stiles figured it was his Alpha instincts at work again. “And I picked up a couple spare sets since we'll be making a mess of them. Or at least _you_ will be, since you never gave me an answer on the whole knotting thing.”

A lump of nerves formed in Stiles' throat, nearly choking him. Turning on a heel, he sank down onto the bed, anxiety ratcheting up too much for him to really take note of anything about it other than it was a piece of furniture with a mattress of some description. “So uh,” he began meekly, hands wringing together in his lap, swallowing hard before he continued. “How big is your knot exactly?”

The Alpha didn't say anything, simply held up his fist. Answer enough really.

Whiskey eyes widened, his jaw dropping in shock, wheezing out a “holy” and being unable to finish the thought.

Dropping his fist, Derek refolded his arms, facing the Omega on his bed. “I don't have to, okay?” he pointed out in that impassive tone, brows raised as thought making sure Stiles was aware that what he said was the truth. “I can fuck you and not knot you or I can not fuck you at all. It's up to you.”

Stiles nodded, hands wringing, teeth worrying his bottom lip. He had no clue how someone could be so blunt and so nonchalant about such a major thing, such an _intimate_ thing. Then again, considering his experience, it was probably easy for Derek to act blasé about it all.

Although, now that he was thinking about it further, maybe Derek was acting so impassive about it because he wanted to make sure it was completely Stiles' choice, that he didn't sway the younger man's decision in any way. Omegas were programmed to want to please their Alpha in any way possible—which some asshole Alphas take advantage of in order to make their Omegas do whatever they want—and chances were Derek didn't want Stiles agreeing to something solely because Derek wanted it when Stiles himself didn't want to. He was making sure that Stiles did what he was comfortable with and didn't participate in anything he wasn't sure about because he was under the impression it was what his Alpha wanted.

Well, not _his_ Alpha really. But still.

Peering up at the still standing male, Stiles took note of his louder than normal heartbeat, his scent tinged with anticipation, his tensed muscles. As uncaring as Derek was trying to make himself seem, he was still giving it away. And while Stiles wanted to tell himself it was because the older man wanted him, wanted to sleep with him, he knew better. Chances were he was already starting to pump out heat pheromones and the Alpha's wolf was reacting to his scent. It wasn't Stiles himself; just the changes in his body.

But the fact that Derek was still reining in his own instincts and holding back his own desires—no matter the reasons behind it—reassured Stiles that he'd made the right decision by asking him to service him during his heat. Which made his other choices easier to make and stand firm with.

“I want you to,” he stated lowly, clearing his throat before speaking again at a normal volume. “Knot me, I mean. I want you to knot me.”

The Alpha slightly tilted his head down, brows raised a tiny amount, looking his guest square in the eye. “You're sure?”

Stiles pressed his lips together, hands moving to grip the edge of the mattress on either side of his legs, long fingers tangling in soft sheets. Derek had washed them for him, for _them_ , planning ahead for when the two of them would be tangled together themselves, bodies joined as one, driving each other closer to the edge. Stiles imagined them moving in sync, covered in sweat and come and his slick, groans leaving both of them as Derek's knot swelled and locked them together.

Yeah, he wanted that. Wanted that very fucking much so, to the point where his cock was twitching and his hole was dampening.

“Yeah,” he wheezed out. “I want you to knot me.”

The Alpha nodded solemnly and that was that. It was official: Derek would be helping Stiles with his heat in the most traditional sense by mating and knotting him.

Mating him in the sexual sense anyway. An actual capital-M Mating was a whole 'nother thing complete with legal documentation and a ceremony amongst families and friends, followed by another more private one with the lowercase-m mating and matching permanent bite marks. It was a term Malia had thrown around with regards to Kira, promising their dad it wouldn't happen until she'd graduated college at least. Stiles had thought about it in the abstract, deciding that he did want one eventually in the future, just no clue with whom. Sitting there on Derek's bed, thinking about what was gonna happen on in during the next few days, he kinda wanted it with the Alpha.

He tore his eyes away from him, staring down at the floor between his feet. Safer than trying to picture a bite mark on Derek's neck that'd been placed there with coyote teeth.

His actual inner-coyote didn't see the problem with that.

“We'll work you up to it,” Derek stated, making the younger man's head snap up, wondering if he was referring to an actual Mating ceremony and exchanging of bite marks or...

Or maybe he'd been continuing their previous conversation about Stiles taking his knot.

He might've been a little disappointed there.

“The first day or so, you won't need to have sex as bad,” the Alpha stated matter-of-factly, speaking from experience. “It's only on days three and four that you're _really_ desperate for it.”

Stiles nodded as he swallowed hard, eyes falling to the floor again. That was the part of heat he'd initially been nervous about, the whole out of control of his own body thing, the overwhelming need to be filled so bad that he'd shove just about anything up there. Sure, he had a partner now, someone who would make sure he didn't put anything in his ass that didn't belong there and would guarantee he'd never be empty. But there was still the embarrassment of it all, the humiliation of having someone else seeing you act so needy, of clawing at them in desperation as you begged to be filled, pride completely gone and shame not a concept you were familiar with.

At least he wouldn't be admitted to the ER with something stuck in his ass or a tear in his passage or anything as deadly and/or even more humiliating than just having someone see him beg.

“We don't need to talk about it right now though,” Derek decided, voice soft, obviously sensing the younger man's distress. His scent was probably laced with anxiety. He could tell his heart was pounding more than usual. “Tonight's about making you comfortable in your new environment. So how about we put on some comfy clothes, pop some popcorn, and watch a movie in the living room?”

A long, relieved exhale left Stiles, taking the nerves with it, relaxing his muscles and slumping his shoulders. “Sounds good.”

The older man nodded, sock-covered feet padding against the carpet as he made his way to the door. “I'll let you get changed,” he offered before leaving, shutting the door behind himself.

Stiles ran his hands through his hair several times, scrubbing at his scalp, before getting up off the bed. He wasn't entirely sure if he was glad that he'd been given privacy to change or not. On the one hand, it was nice to not be self-conscious, to be able to hide his countless moles and his pale skin and all those other imperfections he hated about himself. He was able to put off the inevitable nakedness and the embarrassment that came with it when he realized he was pathetic when compared to the god that was Derek Hale-McCall.

On the other hand, it was also delaying the ability for him to be able to see Derek naked, to take in the lines and planes of his muscular frame without those annoying clothes blocking his view. Plus sometimes it was better just to get shit over with, rip off the band-aid, rather than procrastinating and letting his nerves and anxiety build up over the moment even more.

He ignored how his sister had kinda said something similar to him days before. No need to even think about her possibly being right about anything.

Crouching by his duffel, he pulled out a pair of red plaid flannel PJ pants and an old white tee with a frayed hem along the bottom and missing stitches on the edge of the left sleeve. Not that it mattered. It was a sleep shirt for a reason. He didn't usually go to bed with the intention of impressing anyone.

Until now.

Shaking his head clear of any thoughts regarding nocturnal activities he'd never participated in but wanted to so very fucking much, he focused on getting changed, slipping his dirty clothes into a laundry bag he'd packed and dropping that on top of his duffel. Switching into comfier clothes helped relax him, mind shifting into a more restful state knowing it would soon be headed to sleep and getting the peace they both so desperately needed.

The scent of popcorn and butter drifted into the room and he opened the door and stepped into the alcove, pausing to inhale the delicious aroma before continuing on into the living room. A large bowl full of fluffy popcorn sat in the middle of the coffee table, a bottle of water on either side of it, Derek in front of the TV as he set the PlayStation 3 up to play a DVD.

If the Alpha had any issues with Stiles' PJs, he didn't speak them out loud, simply telling his guest to pick a movie while he got changed. Stiles scanned the movies with more intent than just curiosity, deciding on _The Phantom Menace_ and sliding the disc into the machine.

He settled on the far end of the couch, legs splayed, staring at the coffee table and wondering what Derek's policy was on putting his feet on it when the man himself showed up. The Alpha shuffled through in black mesh basketball shorts and white v-neck, the same outfit he'd had on when Stiles had unexpectedly stopped by and asked him to service him during his heat. He slowly sank down on the opposite end of the couch, not looking at the younger man.

“What're we watching?”

“ _Phantom Menace_ ,” Stiles informed him, hitting play and putting the remote on the coffee table. “My mind's kinda buzzing and I wanted something familiar to kinda lose myself in. And you can't start a saga in the middle, you gotta watch the first episode, so we're stuck watching the worst one out the bunch right out the gate.”

Derek nodded tightly, jaw clenched. Hell, his entire body was tense, harsh lines around his face, muscles bunched, fingers clenched into fists. It was as though he was holding himself in place for some reason, the same distant behavior he'd exhibited in the kitchen before dinner, the same tenseness he'd had during the meal itself, only worse. While Stiles had relaxed with the change of clothes, putting on something comfier had made Derek more wound up, had coiled him up tighter, the exact opposite effect than what was intended.

“Dude, you okay?” the Omega asked, unable to help his instincts from leaking out and worrying over the state of someone, especially a someone he cared about. “I mean, I know this is all about making me comfortable but you being all—” He waved a hand around in Derek's general direction, gesturing in the hopes that it'd more accurately convey what he was trying to get across. “It's not working for me. I need you relaxed, too.”

“I'm fine,” the older man grit out and Stiles felt like punching him.

“You're lying,” he called him on it, voice harsher than before. “You're tense and it's freaking my coyote out and making it think there's something wrong.”

It was only partially a lie, since his coyote was a little unsettled, but that could've just been the situation at large, being in a new environment right before a big change. But it was enough of the truth to make it seem like he was being completely honest and make the wolf speak.

Derek sighed out a long exhale, scrubbing a hand over his face repeatedly, the rasp of his whiskers over his palm hitting Stiles' ear, even over the familiar _Star Wars_ score. “I just,” he started then stopped, hand falling onto his lap with a muffled slap. He finally turned his head to look at the younger man, eyes pleading. “I need,” he tried and failed again, instead settling for raising a hand and reaching towards Stiles, but never touching.

Stiles' heart started pounding as he realized what exactly the other man was asking. Because Malia had been overly tactile with Kira, who had in turn gotten snugglier as the evening wore on, heat pheromones probably screwing with her head, too. And now, Stiles' own pheromones were affecting Derek, tweaking at Alpha instincts and teasing his wolf, making him long to touch and hold and rub and scent-mingle.

And Stiles had _zero_ issues with that.

Well, other than the fact that those urges were coming from pheromones and not an actual desire to wanna do those things himself, but beggars couldn't be choosers or some shit and Stiles was longing for cuddles between them enough for the both of them.

“Okay, new ground rule,” he decided, pausing the movie and facing the Alpha. “Feel free to touch me whenever. You want a hug? Just hug. Wanna cuddle? Just cuddle. If what I've learned is at all accurate, then I'm gonna be feeling pretty touch-starved and will totally welcome snuggles. If I don't like it or don't feel like being cuddly, I'll say so.”

Hope was a sweet scent in his nose, like the first warm day in spring, and he watched as Derek swallowed hard, his hand twitching, fingers curling. “So I can—?” he started then trailed off, fingers unfurling.

Stiles got comfy on the couch, deciding to just go for it and put his feet up on the coffee table, figuring it was okay when Derek didn't object. “Go for it.”

The Alpha nodded before immediately sliding closer, burying his nose in the crook of his neck and inhaling deeply. The Omega bared his neck on instinct, giving him more room to work with, more skin to scent.

More skin to _mark_.

But the older man's teeth stayed to himself—unfortunately—although his arm _did_ drape around the leaner one's waist, fingers clutching the soft cotton of his tee. A low growl rumbled against Stiles' arm where Derek's chest pressed into it and he had to bit his lip to hold back any noises of his own, his cock twitching, his hole dampening, his coyote thumping its tail.

“Smell so good,” Derek breathed against his neck, making him shiver, his coyote preening at the praise.

The human part of him scoffed out loud, eyes rolling despite being closed—which, when the hell had that happened? His scent wasn't anything special, his smell not that great. Plain ol' boring vanilla.

“Yeah ri—”

A hand clamped over his mouth, effectively ending his argument. “Shut it,” the Alpha growled, causing the Omega to let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a whimper.

But the near-command worked to keep him quiet, eyes drifting shut once more, body sinking into the couch. Derek's body heat seeped into his skin, melting his bones and turning his insides to mush. He could feel the older man's breath soft against the sensitive flesh of his neck, making his skin all over tingle with hypersensitivity, every nerve-ending on fire, sparking wildly.

The hand over his mouth moved back to his hip, clutching at it, and Stiles could still feel how hot Derek's palm was through the thin fabric of his tee. His breathing became shaky, lips parting slightly as he panted. It was the most intense experience of his life and they weren't even really doing anything. It was just the Alpha breathing in the Omega's scent, his pheromones. Yet Stiles still felt like his entire being was gonna trembling right out his skin, if it wasn't for the wolf holding him in place.

Derek cocked a leg up, thigh over Stiles', dick pressing into his hip. The feel of a half-hard bulge against his body made him groan, his own hips rolling, cock filling, passage getting wet with his slick.

Which was when everything stopped.

The Alpha froze before slowly pulling away, sitting up straight on the center cushion of the couch and clearing his throat. The tips of his ears were red, embarrassment coloring his scent, and he clenched his fists over his lap, looking all the world like a scolded child.

Which totally confused Stiles, because who the hell had told the guy to stop, much less that he was in trouble?

Clapping his mouth shut, he tried to wipe the fuzziness from his mind and focus on what was going on, on figuring out what had happened, why he'd stopped, why...why anything really.

“Sorry,” Derek said, voice a little rough. “I got carried away.”

Stiles ran a hand through his hair, shoving the strands up, shaking his head in disagreement and in a way to clear his thoughts and get his shit straight. “No. It's cool, it's fine, it's. It's cool,” he responded eloquently, dropping his hand onto his lap only to move it in fear that it'd draw attention to the half-erection he was sporting. Not that his scent didn't already give that away. “I would've stopped you if I had a problem with it.”

The older man didn't agree nor argue, instead grabbing the remote and playing the movie, then trading the controller for the bowl of popcorn. He didn't take any himself, instead holding it out to his guest.

Not needing to be told twice to eat, Stiles grabbed the bowl and put it on his lap. Snatching up a handful, he shoved it in his mouth, chewing loudly as he grinned. He could officially put 'popcorn' on the list of things Derek could cook, not tasting any artificial butter and wondering how exactly he'd made it.

“You really do have god-awful table manners,” the Alpha commented, eyebrow cocked, slight sneer on his face as he watched his guest chow down.

“One: no table,” Stiles pointed out before swallowing. “Two: get used to it, buddy. You'll be seeing a lotta this.” As if to prove his point, he shoved another handful in his mouth and chewing with his lips parted, making as loud and as obnoxious noises as he could.

Red flashed in Derek's eyes before he whipped his head towards the TV, focusing on the movie. But the tenseness of before was back, his muscles held tight, his face pinched, his hands clenched. There was no way Stiles was gonna be able to kick back and enjoy the movie, not with a movie-watching-partner who wasn't relaxed and having fun like he was.

An idea quickly sprang to mind and before he thought himself out of it, he reached over and grabbed Derek's arm, slinging it around his shoulders. He snuggled into the more muscular male, one leg hanging over the end of the couch, the other with his foot flat on the floor, popcorn bowl balanced on his lap as he slouch. The Alpha froze for a brief moment, only to relax into the—admittedly—forced cuddling, settling into the settee himself and holding the other man close.

A grin formed on Stiles' face, one he quickly hid with a handful of popcorn, only popping a couple pieces into his mouth this time. He could definitely enjoy watching a movie like this, even one as disappointing as _The Phantom Menace_.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Derek snuck sniffs at Stiles' head throughout the entire movie, just randomly pressed his nose into his hair and inhaled deeply. The Omega didn't comment on it though, figured it was just heat pheromones making his scent more appealing than it usually was. Which wasn't really much of an accomplishment. Vanilla. Really.

The older man didn't touch the popcorn either until the teenager was completely done eating, having ingested a good majority of it himself, leaving mostly kernels and half-popped pieces. Stiles reasoned it was an Alpha thing, since it was something he often saw Scott do with Allison and Malia do with Kira, making sure their mate got the best pieces and were fed first, putting their needs and demands before their own. Instincts and all that.

They got ready for bed together, washing their faces and brushing their teeth at the same time in the bathroom located in the same alcove for Derek's room. He explained how he'd given Isaac the master suite on the opposite side of the apartment, practically insisting on him taking it. Stiles wanted to ask why, but the way the Alpha's scent had shifted to something sad and a little disgusted meant it was better to just leave the topic alone. So, for once, he kept his mouth shut and just let it go rather than prying.

Which was actually kind of an easy thing to do, considering how his mind was more occupied with thoughts over how domestic the whole thing was, the two of them going through the nighttime routines together, brushing their teeth side-by-side. It was easy to get lost in fantasies over this being an everyday occurrence, that the two of them were actually mates and this was part of their daily activities. Just a Mated pair, brushing their teeth together, just like every other night.

Then his brain would chime in that he was being a fucking moron and he needed to quit it. Acting domestic like that didn't mean anything, was just a matter of convenience, and that he shouldn't get used to it. It was only for a week, maybe less than considering he was gonna be so out of his mind with heat and hormones that oral hygiene would probably fall by the wayside.

Derek let Stiles pick which side of the bed he wanted to sleep in, the younger man going for the one closer to the bookshelves and desk. The Alpha had zero problem with it, stating that he wanted the one by the main door anyway. The tips of his ears reddened at that confession as he cleared his throat, looking adorably awkward standing at the end of the bed. Stiles smirked, chalking it up to another Alpha thing and not commenting.

Not out loud at least.

Stiles settled his pillow into place, made sure his phone was charging as it sat on the nightstand to his left, double-checked he hadn't somehow gotten anything into his pockets that he needed to remove before he accidentally laid on it and broke it. Feeling situated, he grabbed the top of the sheet and pulled it back, only to pause when he stared at the man across the bed from him.

Derek had gotten rid of his shirt and shorts, leaving him in just a pair of black boxer-briefs. Black boxer-briefs that did _everything_ for him, hugging tight around thick thighs, cupping an impressive bulge and putting it on display, leaving very little to the imagination.

The Omega felt his jaw drop, lips parting as he let out a cough in disbelief. Because seriously, how did a guy look like that and _not_ end up in some underwear campaign? It was almost like he stuffed or something. And in two days or so, that prominent display of manhood would be unveiled and inside him and wow, was that a stupidly worded thought. He blamed his arousal for taking the blood from his brain and rendering it useless.

He finally managed to drag his eyes away from the older man's crotch, forcing them to look at his face, where he promptly discovered a raised eyebrow and an expectant gaze.

“What?” he asked, completely dumbfounded, having no clue what words the Alpha had spoken to him.

The raised eyebrow dropped and formed a confused frown with the other, Derek glancing at him sideways. “I didn't say anything.”

Oh fuck. He was Tony Stark in _Iron Man 2_ when he first saw Natasha Romanov up close and made an ass of himself.

Then again, there were worse Avengers to be. Maybe he could convince Derek to be the Cap and they could create their own version of Stony. Guy had the physique to be a post-serum Steve Rogers, that was for damn sure.

His eyes darted down, taking a quick peek of flat pecs and ridged abs and holy god, that V that separated a guy's thighs from his torso, it was glorious. And to think, he was gonna have that pressing up against him soon.

Hell, he had it pressed up against him earlier that evening.

The memory of Derek's body along his had Stiles flushing, his cock twitching and his entrance dampening. The wetness only got worse as his rebellious eyes slid down and fixated on his crotch again, as though his passage was rolling out the red carpet and readying the welcome wagon, totally cool with having that bulge uncovered and pressed inside.

The rest of him was kinda cool with it, too, in all honesty.

“This is what I usually sleep in,” the Alpha stated, pointing to his boxer-briefs with both hands. “If you want me to put my shorts back on or something, I can.”

“No!” he objected, hands flying out in front of him, eyes widening. It took him a second or two to realize how over the top his reaction had been and he reined it in before continuing. “No, it's fine, wear whatever, do whatever is comfortable,” he added on awkwardly, internally grimacing as he externally rubbed at the back of his head.

Stiles and smooth tended to not run in the same circles.

The older man nodded slowly once, pointing at his guest with a curious look on his face. “You gonna be comfortable in that? Because wolves run at a higher temperature than coyotes and sharing a bed can get hot.”

The coyote in question stood there gaping, mind blank with anything that wasn't a flashback to them being pressed together on the couch, Derek's muscular frame along his side, arm around his waist, nose in his neck. He wasn't entirely sure it got any hotter than that, only to realize it did. Because that had been tame compared to other sexual acts they'd be indulging in over the next week and if he'd found that to be hot, then sharing a bed with the guy would be an inferno.

Holy shit, he wasn't gonna survive his heat.

At least now he knew how it got its name.

“Temperature-wise, Stiles,” Derek clarified.

“Right!” the younger man agreed, pointing at his host and giving him a thumbs up. “Right, yeah, totally, I knew that. That was something that I knew.” He clicked his tongue and nodded, sheepish smirk on his face. “Yeah.”

He hated his mouth sometimes. Honestly. He was embarrassed enough at the situation; he didn't need that ramble adding to his humiliation.

The Alpha cocked an eyebrow momentarily but didn't say anything, instead turning and walking over to the door. He shut the door and flipped the light off before padding back to the bed and getting in.

Stiles followed suit, crawling under the sheet and laying down, mimicking the other man's body language as he rested on his side facing away from the middle of the bed. He snuggled down, arm under the sheet then over it, clutching some of it in his fist. Nuzzling down, he buried his nose in his pillow, inhaling the familiar smells of his own scent, of his home, of the faint notes of Malia's whipped cream scent and his dad's coffee one. He closed his eyes, letting those scents comfort him and bring him some peace so he could drift off to sleep.

Only that never happened.

His brain wouldn't shut down, his senses wouldn't dull. He could hear the unfamiliar noises of the apartment, of cars parking or starting up, of strange voices drifting up from the lot below. He could hear a heartbeat that wasn't his own, smell a scent that didn't belong to Mal or Scott or anyone else he'd ever shared a bed with before—which actually was _just_ his sister and his best friend.

He rolled over to his other side, eyes coming across said bed-sharing partner. Derek. As in the guy he'd been crushing on for forever. As in the guy he'd fantasized about when just stroking his cock and fingering his hole wasn't quite enough to get him off like it used to. As in the guy who would be helping him through his heat.

Shit.

Stiles flopped over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, toes wiggling beneath the sheet. It really was a nice bed, comfy mattress, not too firm but not too soft. Sheets were good quality as well, not some snobby high thread count yet still soft, broken in but not worn out. Basically, it was a pleasant place to lay and he really should be able to just completely relax and fall asleep in it with no issues.

But he couldn't.

Part of it was the unfamiliar surroundings, the fact that he'd never actually spent the night there making his coyote feel unsettled and therefore preventing him from feeling at ease himself. He tried to focus on the familiar cotton and stuffing beneath his head, the scents of home that drifted up from it. But instead, all he could concentrate on was the cinnamon scent next to him and the male it belonged to. The male who, in a couple days, would be taking his v-card in that very bed they were laying in and how weird was that?

“Stiles?” The question carried the slight hint of a warning in its tone and he fought the urge to duck his head or bare his neck, instead letting out a hum of acknowledgment. “I can feel you thinking over here. Quit it.”

The teenager shook his head against his pillow, the lack of any real command in the Alpha's words allowing him to argue. “Can't,” he stated, licking his lips, fingers wringing the sheet. “Too much on my mind and my coyote's whimpering and my brain won't shut up and yeah.”

Derek let out a long suffering sigh as he rolled onto his back, hand reaching up to smear over his face. Years of being around the younger man had more than likely taught him that once Stiles had something on his mind, there was no getting it out. Not until he went on an unnecessarily long ramble about it or researched the crap out of it online.

Which got him started on his fear of heat sex rather than help eradicate his nerves. Although Googling “Omega heat gone wrong” was probably the reason behind that fear, but he'd been curious and unable to let it go until he found out. Clearly a mistake.

But for all his research, one question still remained unanswered and unexplained and he found himself blurting it out before he was conscious of the thought forming.

“Why do I need to go into heat anyway? Heat is all about fertility and attracting the right mate so you can procreate and carry on the species, create the next generation and all that, but I lack the equipment to help _create_ a kid, much less carry then birth it so why I feel this all encompassing need to be knotted and filled and bred is stupid and I'll never understand the point of it.”

It was a rant similar to one he'd rambled at his dad a couple nights before and he felt just as passionate about the topic then as he did at that moment. Granted it didn't seem like his coyote was on the same page as him, not that he understood that. Wasn't like it could get knocked up either, yet the promise of being bred had its tail thumping and raising, rear in the air and presenting its hole to whoever wanted to fill it.

Weirdo.

Derek didn't say anything, just stared at the ceiling for a long moment with his hands folded on his bare abdomen, sheet somehow lower on him than it was on Stiles. The Omega began wondering if he'd said the wrong thing, if his spiel had caused a reaction in this Alpha like it had in his dad, if he was once again voicing opinions and fears to somehow who didn't understand and found him ridiculous. He tried scenting the air to gauge Derek's reaction that way, only to get a nose full of neutrality with a slight hint of understanding and annoyance.

He just hoped the last part was due to the fact that he was keeping the older man awake with his fidgeting and anxiety-laced scent.

The silence stretched out to the point where Stiles was starting to become paranoid and about to take it all back. Only for Derek to finally open his mouth and speak.

“Because not all Alphas are straight.”

The answer seemed straightforward enough and spoken in an even-keeled matter-of-fact voice, but Stiles still found himself scrunching his face up in confusion and snorting out a “huh?”

Derek turned his head toward the younger man, features flat, eyes soft. “Alpha/Omega relationships aren't _just_ about breeding,” he pointed out in a gentle tone, volume low as though to help put the teenager at ease. “Generally speaking, Alphas are stronger and better at hunting and gathering, so they protect and provide for the Omega.”

“And Omegas return the favor by being good li'l wifeys and raising the kids and cooking and cleaning and blah blah _blah_ ,” Stiles interrupted, tone snarky, wrapping up his statement by rolling his eyes and sticking his tongue out in disgust.

“Nooo,” the older man argued, stretching the word out. “Omegas balance an Alpha. Alphas by nature are more aggressive and easily angered and Omegas calm them, keep them balanced and centered.”

The slighter male nodded slowly once, brow drawn in thought. “Okay,” he replied blankly, thinking that made sense, that it explained the dynamics between the two classifications perfectly. He remembered moments when his dad would come home from work fuming, pissed off about some delinquent who'd smarted off to him or how people higher up than him are on his ass about one thing or another. His mom would simply hold him close, his dad burying his nose in her neck, and between one breath and the next, he was calmer. It was harder for him to unwind after tense days when she passed, but he somehow managed to do it, for the sake of his kids if nothing else. Stiles had always figured it was just a mate thing though, not an Omega thing, but it made sense really. He'd always been able to talk his dad down when he got too worked up, help him relax after a stressful day, when Malia never could. He'd just chalked it up to his own gift of gab though, not any biological thing brought on by his classification.

But while that helped him understand one thing, it didn't help him with another. “That still doesn't explain why male Omegas go into heat, though,” he pointed out, turning his confused look on the other man.

“Well,” Derek began, head bobbing to the side to concede his point. “In addition to protecting and providing, Alphas also have the super basic instinct to breed and way back in the day, mates were chosen by scent. A fertile Omega was more likely to be chosen than an infertile one since it was able to give the Alpha what he or she wanted: the ability to breed. Male Omegas obviously weren't being chosen, despite there being gay Alphas who'd prefer a male partner to a female one, only their inner-animal wouldn't be happy with that and would feel restless without the belief that they'd bred their mate. So male Omegas started dying off, became a rare thing, and in response, they began to evolve, their bodies beginning to pump out a pheromone that made it seem like they were ovulating and ready to be bred.”

Stiles turned his head back to the ceiling, brow still drawn into a hard line. “Seems like a dick move of us to lie like that.”

“Says the coyote,” the Alpha joked, getting a smack to the chest. “But it works for gay and bi Alphas, appeals to their breeding instincts and keeps their animal happy, while pleasing the human half by giving them a mate of their preferred gender.”

“Makes sense,” he conceded, eyebrows bobbing, hand absently scratching the center of his chest. “So the heat thing just goes along with the false fertile pheromones thing?”

“Pretty much.”

The Omega nodded, taking that in and finding it all a little strange. Kinda made sense though. And in all honesty, it made him feel slightly better about the whole heat thing knowing it was more for survival of his own kind than carrying on the species.

As long as the Alpha he ended up was aware that just 'cause he smelled like he could provide him with pups, he actually couldn't.

He glanced to the Alpha on his right out the corner of his eye, seeing him staring at the ceiling once more. Derek was clearly aware that Stiles couldn't actually be bred.

But Derek didn't wanna mate him so there was no point in carrying on that train of thought.

Still, it was interesting to think that he smelled like he _could_ be knocked up and was ready to provide the guy with a pup or two. Part of him halfway considered the possibility of using that and playing on his Alpha instincts to show him what a good mate he'd make, only to find himself be sickened by the idea. He might've been a coyote and they might've been tricksters in all the folktales and fables, but he wasn't cruel. He wasn't gonna play someone like that or use them in any way, tricking them into wanting him. No, he was gonna find a mate who loved him for him and not because he'd manipulated them into it.

Didn't mean the knowledge that his scent carried a false note of ovulation didn't create some interesting ideas in his head. Wasn't like he could prevent what his wacko brain came up with. As long as he didn't act upon any of those deceptive schemes, then he was okay.

Was still an intriguing thought though.

“So I smell fertile right now?” he questioned earnestly, turning wide eyes and raised brows onto the Alpha who was still laying on his back, head toward the ceiling, eyes now closed.

“Not right now, no,” Derek answered, shifting in his spot, his cinnamon scent getting sharper, with an added spice note to it that made Stiles wanna roll around in it.

Not that that was weird or anything.

“But soon?”

“Whenever you go to sleep, yeah.” The jest was ended with a slight curve of the lips, the older man smirking.

Stiles reached over to smack his chest again, only to have his hand grabbed before he made contact. His protesting “hey!” had barely left his lips when he was manhandled around, the two of them winding up side by side facing the desk, Derek with his arm around the younger man and holding him to his broad chest. The Omega's heart started pounding at the realization of how close they were, that their bodies were perfectly aligned, only to further realize that the Alpha was purposely keeping his hips back.

Definitely killed the romance of the moment.

“Go to sleep, Stiles,” Derek spoke gruffly, nuzzling his head against the back of the teenager's neck, nose between his shoulder blades.

But Stiles wasn't one to go down without a fight, pouting as he laid there. “Just so we're aware,” he spoke up, turning his head slightly back. “I refuse to be little spoon every time.”

The hand that had been laying near his stomach moved up and clamped down over his mouth, just like earlier in the evening. “Go. To sleep. Stiles.”

Unable to argue, he sighed harshly before snuggling down and getting comfy. The hand moved away from his mouth and back to his stomach, only to shift again so it was near his chest, the older man's forearm laying on the bed just shy of actual contact.

It was his only shot really—other than the rest of the week but whatever—and Stiles once again deciding he pretty much had nothing to lose. That thought in mind, he wrapped his fingers around the Alpha's hand, holding it close to him, body relaxing in relief when the loose hold wasn't fought off.

Closing his eyes, he snuffled into his pillow, inhaling the familiar scents of home along with the smells of Derek and his room. A relaxed heartbeat pounded against his back, a slow rise and fall of another chest, and he soon found himself mimicking the patterns, all the tension and nerves draining out his body. Within the Alpha's arms he felt safe, calm, completely at ease. And this time, when his eyes closed, it didn't take him long to actually fall asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles woke up from his first all-night cuddle sesh alone. Which just felt predictable and accurate for how his life was going.

Rolling onto his back, he stretched his body, feeling the tightness leave his muscles and his body go lax. It was totally tempting to just laze, to just stay in bed and not do a damn thing. After all, he'd be participating in a whole lotta physical activities coming up, would be putting his body through the wringer all in the crazy biological need to be knotted and filled because of evolution and self-preservation. He might as well try to get some rest while he could.

His bladder wasn't on board with that plan.

Dick.

Letting out a whine, he dragged himself out the bed and out the room, into the bathroom where he relieved himself. Bladder emptied and hands washed, he headed into the living room, being greeted with the smells of French toast being cooked with the undercurrent of Derek's cinnamon scent. His mouth started watering and he had a hard time figuring out if it was for the food or the man cooking it.

Shuffling to the kitchen, he found the Alpha in a pair of basketball shorts, gray wifebeater hugging his torso, standing over the stove as he flipped a slice on the frying pan. It was a sight Stiles could get used to, something he wanted to see every morning, to wake up every day to Derek cooking them both breakfast. He'd walk over, wrap his arms around him from behind—because he refused to always be the one who was cuddled and not the cuddler—and kiss him good morning.

But he couldn't do that. And he wasn't gonna wake up that way every morning no matter how badly he wished for it. He was lucky he was experience it at all really.

He shoved away the sad thoughts, the upsetting realization that the rest of his life wouldn't include a tank-clad Derek making him food, focusing instead on how fortunate he was that he was getting it for this week. He was gonna take advantage and enjoy the week and the few times he'd get to scuff through to this sight.

Stiles stumbled slightly on the transition from carpet to linoleum, toe stubbing on the metal threshold. Not exactly the way he wanted to make an entrance, but it was pretty typical of him. Forever smooth, Stiles Stilinski.

If the Alpha noticed his tripping, he didn't comment, allowing the younger man at least a semblance of dignity, even if it was only for pretend. He just simply pointed to the coffee maker where a nearly full carafe sat steaming, its caffeinated scent a tease in Stiles' nose.

“Freshly brewed,” he stated, eyes still focused on the frying pan and what he was cooking. “Wasn't sure how you take yours, otherwise I would've made you a cup and had it ready for you.”

The Omega nodded, muttering out a sleepy thanks as he reached into the cupboard above the coffee maker where he knew the cups lived. None of the mugs seemed to match or belong to a set, all of them random novelty ones that had been purchased separately. He grabbed a random mug from the front, a white one with a black silhouette of Han Solo in a shooting pose on it, shaking in Derek's direction to wordlessly ask if it was okay that he used it. After getting a quick head bob in response, he filled it with coffee, adding his usual amount of milk and too much sugar before turning and leaning back against the counter.

The sounds of the TV in the living room drifted into the kitchen and Stiles soon recognized the telltale commentary of a baseball game being played. The Mets to be exact. A small smile formed on his face as he lifted the mug to his mouth, getting a better whiff of the coffee that'd been made.

“Breakfast and baseball, huh?” he commented, grin fully evident in his voice. “Not sure it gets much better than that.” Comment made, he put the cup to his lips and drank deep.

“Breakfast and baseball while knotting someone.”

And once again, Stiles choked on his drink due to something Derek had said. Dick.

Sputtering wildly, he put the mug on the counter and coughed, wide eyes trying to glare at the Alpha. Who just moved French toast from the pan onto plates, like nothing had happened. Major dick.

“Okay, you seriously _are_ doing that on purpose.”

The corner of Derek's lips quirked up in a barely there smirk, the only real evidence that he'd heard Stiles' accusation and that it was true. Super major dick.

The older man let the teenager pick which plate he wanted, another thing he chalked up to Alpha instincts before he chose the one in his right hand. Conversation stalled as they readied their breakfasts, Derek pouring a tiny amount of syrup over his that Stiles wasn't sure he'd even be able to taste, he practically drowning his in the mapley sugary goodness, as well as covering it with so much powdered sugar it looked like a blizzard had swarmed his meal. The more health-conscious of the two scrunched his nose up in disgust, sneering slightly.

“What?” the Omega questioned, not seeing any problems with his food or the way he'd altered it to his taste.

“Nothing,” Derek muttered, putting away the syrup and sugar and double-checking he'd turned the stove off. “Just enjoy your diabetes on a plate.”

Stiles wore a grin that could only be described as “shit-eating”, his smart-assed nature getting the best of him. “I plan to.”

Green eyes were rolled, making him chuckle, before the two of them headed through to the living room with their food and coffee. They settled on the couch, mugs on the table, plates on their laps, digging into their breakfast as the game played in the background. It was several long moments before conversation was started up again, Stiles not surprised it was himself who spoke first.

“So how come you don't have an _actual_ table to eat at?” he inquired before shoving a piece of French toast in his mouth so large that it puffed out his cheeks.

Derek shook his head at his guest's table—or more accurately, _couch_ —manners, before answering. “No room and not point,” he stated, cutting a small piece of toast with his fork. “Not like Isaac and I are hosting a whole lotta dinner parties.”

Stiles see-sawed his head in supplication. “Okay, true,” he conceded before swallowing. “But what if, like, you wanted to invite someone over for a homemade dinner date and wanted to really impress them? Eating on the couch doesn't really scream 'romance'.”

He was fishing and he knew it. But just because Derek had said he hadn't been in a _relationship_ in years didn't mean he hadn't been on any dates or hadn't brought anyone back to his apartment. And Stiles, with his forever curious nature and his apparently sadistic ways, wanted to know about them, wanted to learn more details about the Alpha's past for whatever reason. Maybe it was just a way to help him get over the guy, he reasoned. Because if he knew for a fact that he one-hundred percent did not fit in with Derek's regular dating history or fall under his “type”, maybe it'd help him get over the guy.

And maybe his coyote would sprout wings and he'd spend full moons flying over the Preserve rather than running through it.

The Alpha cocked an eyebrow, chewing slowly before swallowing. “Who says I wanna romance anyone?” he asked back, sounding both confused and slightly offended that such an insane idea would be suggested.

But the words themselves had a different affect on Stiles, the phrase like a punch to the gut. Because he'd had a dinner there on that very couch, was sharing his second meal with the guy on it. But he'd known the dinner he'd had wasn't a date, that it was just a way to discuss specifics and lay down ground rules for his heat. It was more of a business meeting with food than a romantic evening together and that point was driven even further home by Derek's obvious dislike of wooing someone.

Still, it made the Omega curious as to why he was that way, why he hadn't been in a relationship since Jennifer—his fuck-buddies situation with Braeden didn't really count—why he wasn't interested in “romancing” anyone. It seemed like the exes themselves were the cause; Stiles just didn't know the exact reasons why.

“'Cause of your exes?” he asked, keeping his voice light, acting as though he was just making conversation and not trying to pry.

The ability to mask his scent and hide his curiosity definitely helped.

The older man kept his eyes trained on his food, his scent shifting to something unnameable, his eyes darkening. “Because several reasons,” he explained ominously, scooping up some of his French toast onto his fork and slipping it into his mouth.

Stiles just nodded, staring down at his own food, stabbing at it with the tines of his fork. He knew nothing beyond heat sex was gonna happen between them, that it wasn't a gateway into something more, the first step in a relationship. Yet he couldn't help the disappointment he was feeling as it was pretty much confirmed that they weren't ever gonna be anything more than just that week.

God it hurt like hell to think about that.

“You done?”

More nodding, Stiles putting his fork on his plate with a clink that seemed louder than it actually was. “Yeah. I'm full.” It was a lie, but his coyote nature allowed him to cover it up. In reality, he just didn't feel like eating anymore, his stomach churning in upset and heartache and there was no way he could put any more food in it.

“Good,” Derek replied flatly, impassive tone back, taking the other man's plate and stacking it on top of his own. Rising to his feet, he rounded the coffee table, padding to the kitchen as he spoke. “We need to talk about what's gonna happen tomorrow.”

Shit.

Shit.

 _Shit_.

Stiles' heat was scheduled to start the next day. They were gonna have to talk about what was gonna happen to him. They were gonna discuss how he was gonna lose his virginity and be fucked and knotted and become a begging wanton mess of hormones that just wanted to be filled and filled and filled. It was only a matter of hours before he was gonna get laid and come from something other than his own hand, before he was gonna turn into a knot-slut and totally lose control of himself.

Holy. Shit.

His eyes widened as he stared straight ahead at nothing, the edges of his vision blurring. He felt hotter than usual, although he wasn't sure if it was just the beginning of his heat or a side-effect of the panic he was starting to feel. Because he was definitely panicking. He couldn't breathe, his skin was tingling, his stomach was churning, and his chest felt so tight he was certain he'd see a vice around his ribs if he looked down.

“Stiles?”

He jerked at his name, suddenly realizing that Derek was sitting on the couch next to him, knee against his own, hands held between warm ones. It was only then that he realized he was shaking, that he was trembling all over, that he was hyperventilating. His coyote was in a similar state, pacing around agitated, whines and whimpers leaving it as it clawed to get out, as it begged to take over and let the human just fall to the wayside so he could handle everything in its animalistic way.

“Stiles, just breathe, okay?” the Alpha murmured, thumbs rubbing the back of the younger man's hands. “Relax. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you, I promise. You're okay, you're fine, just relax.”

The soothing words were continued, washing over him, wrapping around him like a blanket. It did the job, the Alpha's voice calming him, quieting him. He felt his coyote calm as well, the noises stopping, the animal laying down and rolling over to show its belly. Slowly his trembling stopped, his heart slowed, and his breathing returned to a normal in and out pattern.

“Your heat won't be that bad, I promise. I'll make sure of it,” Derek vowed at a low volume, ducking his head to meet the other man's eyes and hold his gaze.

Stiles could only nod, believing him. After all, that was why he'd asked the guy in the first place, because he knew he'd take care of the Omega. He took a deep, shaky inhale, holding the air in his lungs before letting it out slowly. His panic attack hadn't been as bad as ones in the past, something to be thankful for. But still, he hated that he'd actually had one, that he'd let himself get so worked up in front of the guy he had a stupidly big crush on.

Thanks, Universe. Really.

“Think you're up to talking about it?”

More nodding, the Omega finally able to lift his head and look at the other man fully. Concern had Derek's brows raised slightly, worry etched in lines around his eyes and in the tightness of his mouth. It was thick in his scent, too, helping further put Stiles at ease. If the guy hadn't been worried over him, it would've stung even more and he would've most definitely questioned his decision to have the Alpha help him during his heat. Chances were, he would've just packed up his shit and asked his dad to come pick him up, choosing instead to handle the week by himself and suffer alone.

Derek nodded himself, licking his lips, and totally distracting Stiles. Because now all he could think about was getting that tongue on his own lips—and possibly elsewhere on his body, like, ya know, _everywhere_.

“Your first day won't be so bad,” he explained, voice calm and level, keeping the younger man at ease. “You'll feel a little hotter than usual, like someone kicked the heat up and you can't keep cool.”

Sounded familiar already, Stiles' skin still feeling warm. He still wasn't sure if it was his heat though, considering the possibility that it was the werewolf next to him and his higher body temp.

“Your skin will be more sensitive than usual and any erogenous zones you already have will be more intense than before,” Derek continued. “You'll walk around in a low level of arousal all day and you'll get random erections for no real reason.”

Stiles snorted, head bobbing with the action. “Sounds like puberty,” he muttered, mentally grimacing at the memories of awkward boners in class. Or while being babysat by the guy currently on the couch with him.

Although maybe those weren't random or for no real reason.

The ones in class pretty much were though. Nothing sexy about the Pythagorean theorem. Maybe the way Lydia had used it and pretty much put everyone else to shame with her math geniusness...

Derek see-sawed his head, thoughtful pout on his face. “Pretty much,” he agreed. “Only you can't bad thought your erections away. You gotta take care of 'em the old fashioned way.”

Suddenly Stiles was fourteen and in the bathroom rubbing one out, Derek downstairs growling at Malia for hitting Scott with whatever random object she'd grabbed and was using as a weapon at that moment. The growls never helped his situation, appealing more to his Omega nature and his instincts that had him bowing and dampening beneath Alpha orders.

Back on the couch, he swallowed, lips pressing together in a hard line. “Jacking off.”

“Yep,” Derek backed him up, lips twisted in a slightly apologetic wince. “You can handle it by yourself if you wanted. Day two is when it becomes harder to get off without help, but even then you can get away with not having full penetrative sex until day three.”

That had Stiles' eyebrows raising, relief flooding his every pore and making him slightly sag. “So I get to hold onto my v-card for another couple days?”

“You can hold onto it for another week if you want,” the older man pointed out, still impassive, still not forcing the teenager's choice in either direction.

He shook his head, licking his lips. “No. I already said I want you to knot me and I meant it.”

Derek's eyes turned red before he shut them tightly. The human part of him might not have wanted to comment on his own desires, but his wolf was making its opinion known the only way it could at that moment. After a long moment, he reopened them to their usual hazel-green, exhaling before he went on.

“Day four is the worst, when you feel like you're _really_ on fire and totally touch-starved,” he stated, voice managing to be flat yet apologetic at the same time. “Day three you can get away with not being knotted every time, but not on day four. Your heat will be at its peak then and you'll be at your most neediest and out of control. That's when things kinda become a blur and your mind is _completely_ gone, leaving you at your most vulnerable.”

The Alpha's eyes darkened again, his scent shifting to something heavy that Stiles couldn't decipher. It was like he was thinking of something from a while ago, something that upset him in some way. And his discomfort was making the Omega nervous, making his coyote whine again, paws covering its face.

Stiles swallowed hard, hands twitching to wring together, only to realize they were still being held. Derek squeezed them in a reassuring way as though sensing he needed the comfort and reassurance before continuing on.

“Day five is when you start coming down. You still feel needy and hot, but not as bad. It's sort of like day three in that you don't _have_ to be knotted, only you're a lot more tired.” He paused to take a drink of his coffee, mug now empty as he placed it on the table. “Day six you'll feel needy for physical comfort in the form of cuddles and caresses and spent most of the day sleeping.”

Day six sounded good to Stiles, the best part so far. Snuggles and naps? Damn good plan really.

“You'll still be tired on day seven,” Derek went on. “But you'll be able to go home. And don't be surprised if you don't feel like hugging or being physically close to anyone for a couple days after. It's like your body received too much touching over the previous week and is sick of it, needs a break to reboot itself or something.”

Stiles nodded, thinking over everything he'd been told and filing it away for later use. Every being laid out so plainly for him had calmed something deep inside him, had helped ease his fears and made him a helluva whole lot less scared. Granted he was still nervous, but he figured that was probably normal going into a first heat and/or before losing one's virginity.

“Wish they would've explained it to us like that during Heat Ed rather than getting all technical and biological,” he murmured, fingers flexing within Derek's hold.

The Alpha rubbed his thumbs over the back of his hands again, corner of his lips twisting up in a minor form of a smirk. “Not sure parents would've been okay with teachers discussing heat sex with underage kids. Some were opted out of even being taught about the anatomy of it all.”

His eyebrows bobbed in concession. “Good point.”

The older man nodded. “Any other questions?”

Stiles took a deep breath, teeth worrying his bottom lip as he went over everything in his head for the second time. “So, day one I can take care of myself?” he double-checked, thinking about what was about to happen to him in a matter of hours.

“Correct. And I won't touch you or try to help you in any way until you ask me.” He gave the other man a serious look, green eyes grave as he met his whiskey ones.

“And I won't have this overwhelming, clawing need to be fucked or knotted all day every day?” It was one of the things that he was afraid of, that he'd spend all five-seven days in bed moaning and whining and begging and pleading to just be filled over and over and over again. He wasn't sure he'd be able to handle the embarrassment after-the-fact or the shame that would come from learning how slutty he'd behaved over the week.

He figured it was okay for mates, that the unconditional love that came with having your better half help you meant that you didn't have to worry about being judged over your wanton actions. But for Stiles, he didn't have that luxury. He had a partner he'd barely spoken to over the past five years or so, most of their conversations limited to small talk over holiday meals. Not knowing each other on a deep personal level the way mates did meant that there was a huge chance he'd do something Derek didn't approve of or found completely ridiculous and held it against him for the rest of his life.

Plus, he was _Stiles Stilinski_. He was most definitely gonna do something stupid and ridiculous and further prove how the universe was totally conspiring against him.

“Not until day four,” Derek answered, tone flat and level. “But even then, you still have a few moments of peace while you're being knotted.”

His curiosity got the better of him once again, his mind more occupied with the other man and his own experiences than what was gonna happen to himself. It would be admirable and selfless if it wasn't a little obsessive and creepy. “Is that how it was for you?”

The Alpha's face closed off, scent turning bitter. “More or less, yeah.”

Stiles nodded, lips pressed together, before he frowned. “I'm nodding a lot. I'm starting to feel like a bobblehead.”

A small chuckle left the older man, lips quirking up into a smirk. “No more heat talk then, okay? Not unless you want to.”

“Nooo,” he elongated the word, further proving how much he really didn't want to do that.

Derek squeezed his hands once more before releasing them, slapping his hands on his thighs before rising to his feet. “Why don't you pick something for us to watch while I do the dishes?”

Stiles turned his head to the TV, noticing that the game had ended and the Mets had lost, the opposing team exchanging high-fives on the field in victory. Clearly missing the last couple innings was a good thing, allowing him to not see his team blow yet another win.

Switching his attention back to the man in the room with him, he pulled his features into a serious expression, standing up himself. “I'll do the dishes since you cooked,” he volunteered, using the general rule they had at his own house when it came to dinner and family breakfasts. Which usually meant Malia was on dish duty, since Stiles didn't ninety-nine percent of the cooking.

Derek shook his head, rounding the coffee table. “I got it.”

“Dude, I'm not some fragile little Omega who needs to be pampered and coddled all the time,” he argued as he stepped in the other man's way, scowling at the Alpha, feeling offended at the insinuation that just because he was stereotypically the weaker type it meant he couldn't handle doing some fucking dishes. “Just save the caretaking for when I'm heat delirious, okay?”

The older man sighed, hands on his hips, hanging head shaking. “Fine,” he gave in, lifting his head up to look at the teenager. “But I'm drying. It'll go faster.”

“Deal.”

The two headed to the kitchen, compromise having been made, doing the dishes together. The entire thing felt totally domestic and right, to the point where it almost hurt. But just like before when they'd gone through their bedtime routine together, Stiles shoved any and all feelings aside, focusing on the task at hand. Because on day seven, he'd be going home and he'd no longer be participating in these daily household chores with Derek. Their pseudo-relationship and friends-with-heat-sex-benefits arrangement would be over and he'd be stuck doing these monotonous activities all by himself again.

And didn't that just suck more that heat itself?

~*~*~*~*~*~

They ended up watching _Attack of the Clones_ , followed by _The Clone Wars_ movie then TV show. Stiles stuffed his face throughout the day, something Derek said was normal before providing him with all the junk food he wanted. Didn't mean the Alpha still didn't make disgusted faces at his eating habits or sneer at the crap he requested. Derek insisted on actual meals for lunch and dinner, which Stiles didn't mind, the two sharing dish duty both times.

Throughout the day, the twosome grew closer. Physically at least. They'd started out sprawl on their ends of the couch, shifting closer as time passed, to the point where by dinner time, Stiles was laying on top of Derek who was stretched out on the couch. He absently wondered if that's how they'd spend lazy days together if they were an actual couple, only to decide it wasn't worth fantasizing about since it'll never happen.

Stiles took a quick shower and shaved, not entirely sure if he'd get a chance to do so over the rest of the week. Derek took one when he was done, allowing him a few minutes to himself in the bedroom to get his head together.

Which resulted in him checking his phone, since his thoughts weren't exactly a good place to be. Not to mention they weren't all that fully formed, mostly just nerves and whimpers and general anxiety over what was gonna happen when he woke up the next day.

His dad had sent him a text reminding him to make sure Derek treated him well and wishing him luck. Scott wished him the same thing before pleading to never share any details with him. Ever. Malia's message was a supportive “ _Have fun getting your ass pounded and knotted, you weenie!_ ” He sent a quick thanks to his dad, promised Scott he wouldn't, and told his sister to go fuck herself. Her response was to remind him that she had Kira to take care of that for her. Duh.

He seriously had no idea how he shared DNA with her.

Then again, if the situation were reversed, he'd probably do the same thing.

Messages sent, he silenced his phone and plugged it up, physically getting settled. It was still a little early, but he'd need the extra rest, considering what was about to happen the next day. He was already feeling the effects of his heat, feeling a low thrumming in his veins, his skin warmer than usual. He shucked his PJ pants and tee, deciding to just sleep in his boxers. If he was already that hot, then sharing a bed with a hot-blooded werewolf would make things worse.

Pulling the sheets back, he got settled in bed, fingers drumming on his bare torso. He tried to think about anything other than what that bed signified, what was gonna happen in it soon, what was about to happen to his body.

He failed.

The shower cut off in the next room, the curtain being pushed back, rings rattling against the metal bar. He closed his eyes, getting lost in the mundane noises of Derek getting out the shower, drying off, pulling on his clothes. He heard the sink cut on and off as the werewolf brushed his teeth, heard him tidy the place up. His eyes glanced around the room, taking in how neat everything was, thinking about the organized chaos that was his own bedroom, noting the way his dirty laundry was strewn out of his duffel. Derek would be driven nuts if they had to permanently share a space. He already got on to the teenager about his eating habits and table manners. He wouldn't be able to handle dirty boxers laying wherever they'd been taken off, towels left on the bathroom floor, dirty clothes scattered around the hamper rather than in it.

He was a terrible Omega, really.

The door opened, Derek padding through in his boxer-briefs, hair wet and unstyled, laying across his forehead. Stiles wasn't sure what it was exactly, but the Alpha being still damp from the shower caused a dampness of his own to form, his dick pulsing in his boxers. His skin grew hotter at the sight, eyes roaming over flat pecs and ridged abs, his tongue darting out to wet dry lips. Fuck, he'd give anything to lick the man himself, to run his tongue over that damp skin and taste him. The thought had his coyote drooling, ass in the air to present itself to its Alpha. The human was close to doing the same thing, to turning around, boxers down, slickened hole on display in the hopes of tempting the werewolf into mating him.

Derek inhaled, nostrils flaring, eyes flashing red before he blinked it away. “S'pose I should get used to that scent, huh?” he rumbled, voice slightly rougher than usual.

Stiles felt his cheeks heat up for a reason other than hormones, knowing he was getting splotchy as he blushed. The Alpha had always turned him on, from the time Stiles had even known what being turned on meant. It was just gonna be worse over the next few days.

The older man nodded to himself, lips pressed into a hard line. His muscles were tensed up, steps heavy as he walked over to his side of the bed. With stiff motions, he checked his own phone, plugged it in, then got into bed, laying on his back. “Night, Stiles,” he sighed out, sounding exasperated already.

“Night,” he managed to choke out, closing his eyes and trying to drift off.

But just like the previous night, it didn't happen.

He tossed, he turned, he twitched, he spazzed. But most of all, he didn't sleep.

Another harsh sigh came from his right, Derek muttering out several swears as he rolled onto his side. And just like the previous night, he manhandled Stiles around until they were spooning again, the Omega being held against a bare chest.

Holy shit, skin on skin was _awesome_.

He swallowed hard, licking his lips, tamping down his reactions, willing his heart to beat slower. “Thought I wasn't always gonna be little spoon,” he commented, grimacing at how squeaky his voice was.

Derek snorted against his hair, ruffing the strands. “This way, I can keep your flailing and twitching to a minimum and actually get some sleep.”

Stiles huffed, offended. Wasn't his fault his limbs had minds of their own and decided to move without his brain giving them the signal to. If it was up to him, he'd just close his eyes and boom, be sleeping. But nooo. His body twitched, his mind raced, and he spent hours tossing and turning before he drifted off to sleep. The same thing happened in his own bed every night. Being in a new place—despite having already spent one night there—wasn't exactly helping anything.

The Alpha pulled him closer, arm wrapped around his waist, nose buried in his hair. He tangled their legs together, shoving one of his own between Stiles' two, bringing them as close together as possible.

It was both amazing and the worst thing ever. Because Stiles could feel the line of Derek's cock as it lay between his crack, could feel the pulse of it even through two layers of fabric. Two thin layers. Two thin layers that could be ripped away in milliseconds with claws from either one of them, giving Derek easy access to Stiles' hole. It would be so damn easy to just do all that, to have the Alpha slip inside him in that very position.

He felt his passage dampen further, his slick leaking out past his hole and soaking into his boxers. His cock was a half-hard pulsing presence at the front, crying out for attention. Stiles imagined grabbing hold of the Alpha's wrist and moving his hand further down until it was against his rapidly growing bulge, wrapping thick fingers around his shaft. He imagined asking Derek to just take him then and there, bucking his hips back and grinding against the other male's dick in an effort to harden it and turn him on the way he was at that moment. Because really, they were just delaying the inevitable by not having sex already. It was dumb to wait and put it off and really, they should just go ahead and do it while Stiles' mind was mostly clear.

“Go to sleep, Stiles,” Derek grumbled, voice vibrating against his back.

The Omega sobered up immediately, any and all fantasies disappearing in a flash. Even if he gave in to the outlandish idea of trying to seduce the older man into taking him right then, there was no guarantee Derek would actually go along with it. Not to mention the fact that he didn't even want that. He was just doing this to help his little bro's best friend, not because he had any feelings for Stiles himself. After all, it was called _servicing_ someone in their heat, because it was a job and not for fun.

Stiles shoved away the hurt he was feeling, the sting from the rejection of a request he never even made. It was an act that was quickly becoming a habit and he almost longed for the mindless blur that would come from day four of his heat, if for no other reason than he wouldn't have to deal with the pain of being reminded that he wasn't desired the way he wanted to be.

Instead, he closed his eyes and began imagining a reality where Derek was holding him because he cared about him, where he was helping him with his heat because he loved the connection it formed between the two of them. It wasn't a good idea, would only lead to more pain and heartache. But Stiles knew that would be coming at the end of the week no matter what. For the time being, he just let himself pretend.


	7. Chapter 7

Waking up with a hard-on wasn't anything new for Stiles.

Waking up with a hard-on while sharing a bed with someone else also wasn't anything new either.

Waking up with a hard-on while sharing a bed with someone he wanted to take care of his hard-on for him, however, was.

Shit.

Okay, so it probably wasn't as bad as he was making it out to be. After all, the guy he was currently sharing a bed with had already agreed to help him with his heat—which apparently had recently started judging by the thin layer of sweat covering his skin, the slick leaking out his hole, and the erection tenting his boxers that was aching so bad it actually woke him up.

But said guy had also stated that he wouldn't touch Stiles until the Omega himself asked him to. Because he wouldn't actually sleep with Stiles under normal circumstances. Because he wasn't into Stiles the way Stiles was into him.

And wouldn't that be a total boner killer if it weren't for that whole annoying heat thing.

Which he should probably take care of.

Laying on his side facing the desk, Stiles could hear Derek on the other side of the bed fast asleep, breathing even, heartbeat steady. The Alpha was no longer pressed against him the way he had been when they'd fallen asleep, but he still had an arm slung over the leaner male's waist, a subconscious way to keep loose contact, to keep the physical connection. And while Stiles wanted to find it sweet and believe it was a sign of deeper feelings, he couldn't. Partially because he knew it was most likely just an Alpha protecting its Omega type of deal, but also because it was a pain in the ass.

How the hell was he supposed to handle his morning wood with a muscular arm draped over him?

Clearly he couldn't do it in bed. Was kinda rude to cover someone else's sheets with your come, especially while that person is sleeping, and sleeping right beside you to boot. Plus it'd be awkward if Derek were to wake up in the middle of Stiles jacking off, or right when he came. Yeah, the guy had agreed to help with his heat and would eventually have to see him orgasm and deal with the mess, but not like that, not for that reason.

Really his only option was to get out of bed and go to the bathroom, take care of shit in there. Or more specifically _sneak_ out of bed, since he didn't really wanna wake Derek up and have to deal with the embarrassment of admitting he was leaving so he could jack off in private. He'd much prefer to delay the awkwardness of the whole situation for as long as possible.

Only problem was that Stiles wasn't what anyone would call “graceful” or “smooth” or “sneaky”. It was why he'd always spend the whole night out after drinking at a party, so he wouldn't try to surreptitiously slip his way back into the house and be busted by his dad because he'd bumped into a side table or knocked his elbow against a picture frame and caused it to smash onto the floor.

But at that moment, it felt like Stiles didn't really have a choice other than trying to be stealthy as he got out of bed and headed to the bathroom.

Awesome.

Just. Totally awesome.

He kept his breathing steady, allowing him to regulate his heartbeat at a more normal pace, knowing any uptick in its speed would alert the Alpha behind him and make him think something was wrong, waking him up and blowing the whole thing to shit. With slow, easy movements, he lifted his head and glanced about the room, eyeing his walkway. Nothing in his way, duffel having been moved over by the desk, his clothes all piled around it. Derek kept an abnormally neat room—or at least he'd cleaned it really well before Stiles showed up in an Alpha instinctual need to provide a good environment—so there was nothing for him to trip on, no obstacles for him to stumble into.

Glancing behind himself, he found Derek laying on his stomach, head turned away. His eyes roamed the expanse of his back, taking in smooth skin and defined muscles, becoming fixated on the tattoo between his shoulder blades of three spirals all originating from the same point. A triskele, his mind supplied, before coming up with a million questions about why that symbol, why that part of his body, why get that permanently etched into his skin.

Not that it mattered—or that he could even get any answers at that point. The black lines were forever a part of him, a beacon on his flesh that drew in Stiles' eyes and tempted him to touch, to run his tongue over it and trace the edges, the lines, the swirls, the whole damn thing. He wondered how it would look scratched up, his claws having dug into his skin as Derek's cock drove into him, hips pounding relentlessly and leaving the Omega no choice but to hold on for dear life, his eyes flashing gold as the older man's turned a bright scarlet red and wow, did he need to stop that before his arousal got any worse.

Swallowing hard, he turned his head away, taking a few seconds to steady his racing heart. More slick had leaked out of him, starting to soak into his boxers, and his cock was pounding harder beneath the cotton fabric. His skin felt hot to the touch and he knew he needed to go before his scent woke Derek up and he was faced with the embarrassment of waking up aroused like a teenage boy.

Well, a _younger_ teenage boy.

With careful motions, he moved the Alpha's arm off him, laying it gently on the bed. He slipped out from under the covers, landing silently on his feet on the short carpet. He vaguely thought of coyotes in the wild and how they'd tiptoe around sleeping wolves, sneaking past their dens as they roamed the woods. He was doing the same, barely padding on his toes as he crept over to the door, eyes glancing back and forth between the path he was taking and the still-sleeping male on the bed.

Stiles managed to grip the knob without making it rattle, the door opening without any creaks or groans. He slipped out the room, silently shutting the door behind himself, continuing to tiptoe as he made his way into the bathroom.

Where he promptly ran out of ideas of what to do next.

Jerking off while standing in the middle of the bathroom—in the middle of _someone else's_ bathroom felt dirty and cheap and just plain rude. His eyes roamed the space, the small counter on the left, the toilet right beside it, the shower on his right with the curtain closed.

Perfect.

He shucked his boxers and stepped inside, flipping it on cold. The water felt like a thousand tiny icicles stabbing him all over, prickling his skin and making him shiver. He hated cold showers on the best of days, but with his body feeling hotter than usual, the low temperature felt almost like torture.

Derek's voice popped into his head, reminding him that he couldn't just will his erection away, that he had to take care of it the old fashioned way: masturbating. Meaning the cold shower wasn't gonna do anything except just make him shiver and freeze him. That thought in mind, Stiles flipped the water to hot, deciding that if he was gonna jerk off, then he was gonna be comfortable and at least halfway enjoy it, dammit.

He didn't bother teasing or prolonging it the way he would if he were at home and had the place to himself, simply gripping his cock and stroking. He tightened his fingers around himself, played with the slit the way he liked, making quick work of it. Because the sooner he came, the sooner he was back in bed and pretending like nothing had even happened.

Not the sexiest thought in the world, but he was so keyed up at that point that it didn't even matter.

He tilted his head back, eyes closed, teeth sinking into his bottom lip to bite back any noises. A small rush of pleasure spread throughout his body, emanating from his groin and making his skin tingle. His orgasm wasn't anything all that special, a few lazy squirts as he stroked himself, toes curling against the non-slip mat stuck to the bottom of the tub. It felt good the way coming always did, but it felt more perfunctory than anything. He wondered how many more like that he'd be experiencing over the next few days or if it got better the further into his heat he went.

God he hoped it got better. A week's worth of “meh” orgasms seemed almost like hell.

Stiles quickly washed off, cleaning the come off the tiled wall in front of him, wiping himself down with a cloth and his usual unscented body wash. He performed another quick shave if for no other reason than because he had the chance to, because unlike some Alphas and their infinite perfection, he couldn't really grow a beard since his facial hair tended to grow in patches and he looked more like he was diseased and homeless rather than a rugged, sexy lumberjack.

Score another one for Stilinski.

Shaved and washed, he cut the water off and stepped out the shower, drying off with the towel he'd used the night before. Only to then realize he'd forgotten to bring any clothes into the bathroom with him.

Shit.

He glanced down at his boxers as they lay on a heap in the middle of the floor, noticing the wet patch at the back where his slick had leaked out and soaked into the cotton. Clearly they were useless, since there was no way he was putting dirty boxers back on over a clean body. A quick glance around the room showed no hidden clothing, no stashed undies, no items left behind in a hurry and completely forgotten about, much like the bathroom he shared with his sister. And, of course, Derek kept his hamper in his closet, meaning Stiles didn't even have the option to slip on a pair of used shorts to get him from the bathroom to the bedroom.

Nope, his only choice was the towel currently hanging from his hands.

Great.

At least it was just him and Derek in the apartment and not a whole bunch of random people. He wasn't sure he'd be able to live it down if he padded through in just a towel to find Isaac on the couch lounging or Erica singing along to _Frozen_.

Out of options, Stiles wrapped the towel around his waist, tucking in the end and triple-checking that it wasn't gonna undo itself and fall down at an inopportune time. As shit was prone to do for him, being the universe's bitch and all.

When he was certain his towel was going nowhere, he quietly left the bathroom, tiptoeing back to the bedroom. He cracked open the door and peeked inside, finding the bed empty and the sheets pulled into place.

Well, shit.

The rustle of clothing let him know that the room itself wasn't void of life and he stepped inside, finding Derek standing in front of his bureau, adjusting yet another pair of mesh basketball shorts around his waist. Stiles absently wondered how many he actually owned before lamenting the fact that he'd been _this close_ to catching a glimpse of naked Derek.

If only he hadn't spent so long trying to find something in the bathroom to wear. Would be nice to actually _see_ the guy's ass, rather than just the outline of it through the mesh. Although those shorts really help his imagination out and put a whole lot on display. He thought of that stupid “do he got the booty” internet craze and had to resist the urge to howl out “he doooo!”

“Everything okay?”

Stiles' head snapped up, eyes wide, a “huh?” bursting forth from his lips before his mind caught up. Derek was staring back at him, eyebrow cocked in question, clearly awaiting an answer.

Stiles couldn't remember the question. He'd been distracted by a glorious ass.

Oh, right. Was everything okay.

Shit no it wasn't.

He cleared his throat, scratching the back of his head and feeling the water transfer from his hair to his fingers. Which just reminded him that he was still in a towel, other hand shooting down to grab hold of where the end had been tucked in as an extra measure of security to prevent it from falling. Didn't help him with that whole shirtless thing though. Yeah, he was kind of on an even playing field with Derek there, since the Alpha was sans top as well, but he was ripped, all muscle on muscle on muscle. And while Stiles wasn't the lanky, scrawny beanpole he had been in his early teenage years, he wasn't exactly built like the older man. His chest was flat with no delineation between the two pectorals, his abdomen just an outline without separated muscles forming a six-pack. If he sat, he could maybe use the fold of his body to form a two-pack.

Whatever. He'd played lacrosse and it didn't require any sort of ridged abdominal region or monstrous biceps. He was in shape and was more lean muscle than bodybuilder and it worked for him.

Still didn't stop him from being completely self-conscious around the clearly better looking man.

“Stiles?” Derek prompted, both eyebrows raised now, voice more concerned than curious. “What's going on?”

The Omega swallowed hard, wincing, face heating up as he blushed. “I, uh,” he started then stalled, dropping his hand. “I started.”

The worry left the werewolf's scent, a smirk turning up the corner of his lips. “So I smelled,” he quipped, turning back to his drawers and pulling one open.

The joke helped distract Stiles from his self-deprecating thoughts, but only made him more embarrassed, his blush deepening. Clearing his throat again, he made his way past the older man on his way towards his duffel, eyes coming across the ink on Derek's shoulder blades again.

“I didn't know you had a tattoo,” he pointed out, hoping his tone was casual rather than prying, knowing he had a habit of shoving his nose where it didn't belong. But he couldn't help his curiosity or his need to know shit, a trait he more than likely inherited from his sheriff dad. He didn't see anything wrong with it though; after all, curiosity had killed the cat, not the coyote.

Derek let out an inquisitive “hmm?” before peeking over his shoulder as though he'd actually be able to see his ink. “Oh yeah,” he remembered, turning his head back. “It's kinda the symbol of my dad's family. I got it inked on my eighteenth birthday as a way to keep connected to him.”

Stiles nodded from his crouch down by his duffel, inhaling the salty sadness in the Alpha's scent. It was a scent he'd smelled all too often during his teenage years, a feeling he was unfortunately too familiar with. The loss of a parent wasn't anything anyone could understand until it happened to them and the loss of one when you were still young was worse. Granted Derek was much younger when he lost his dad than Stiles had been when he lost his mom, but the knowledge of not having that part of yourself around still stung in a way that words couldn't accurately describe. It was why Derek had been there for Stiles and Malia after their mom's death, why he was more empathetic and a bigger comfort, despite Scott's incredible efforts to be there just as much and help out in his own way. Because Scott's dad was still alive—despite not really being around since they'd been about seven—and therefore he didn't really understand the enormity of everything or the depths of depression at the realization that your parent wasn't ever gonna show up again, regardless of how you felt about them.

Derek got it. Derek knew what it was like to feel like half of you was gone and be so lost and confused because you no longer had that person to help you figure out who you were and answer questions only they'd know. Derek didn't really know the Hale side of himself—aside from whatever info his uncle might have provided, which might not be all that reliable considering the guy's history of lies and manipulation—just like Stiles didn't know much about his Omega nature. The older male getting a tattoo to represent his father's side and that part of himself made sense and was an idea Stiles himself had thrown around for years, wanting a way to honor his mom and keep that connection to her even if she wasn't around.

“Is that why you hyphenated your last name after your mom married Scott's dad?” he asked, the thought of Derek remaining connected to the Hale half of his DNA weighing heavy on his mind and bringing forth more questions.

The Alpha see-sawed his head, closing his drawer as he turned around. He leaned back against his bureau, shirt in hand, lips twisted in a thoughtful grimace. “That was a compromise my mom came up with,” he admitted, not sounding overly enthused about it, even eighteen years later. “I wanted to keep being 'Derek Hale', but she wanted all of us to have the same last name so we could be a real family.”

Stiles nodded, thinking it made sense, frowning when another thought occurred to him. “Why didn't you drop the 'McCall after she divorced him?”

Derek shrugged, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “For Scott and my mom,” he explained softly, dropping his hand and folding his arms over his bare chest. Stiles fought to keep his eyes on the guy's face rather than ogling his pecs or biceps. He'd just gotten rid of one hard-on; no need to give himself another, not when he was still feeling a low level hum of arousal just beneath his skin.

“ _They're_ my family,” the Alpha continued. “Not the asshole who gave them that surname.”

A small smile tugged up the corner of Stiles' lips, a warmth settling in his chest. He knew how important pack was to their animals, how important family was to their human sides. Yeah, there was the rare lone wolf or coyote or what-have-you, but for Stiles, he could never go it alone. He was a family guy, was one-hundred percent dedicated to them, and that extended to his friends. Scott and Allison, Lydia and Aiden, Danny and Ethan, Kira, even sometimes Jackson when he was being less douchy than usual. They were all his pack and he couldn't imagine what kind of cruel, cold, neglectful asshole didn't thrive on that, didn't want that.

But Derek wasn't one of those guys. Derek had his own pack with Erica, Boyd, and Isaac. He had his family with Scott and his mom, to the point where he kept the surname of a man he genuinely had loathed for as long as Stiles could remember, just so he could keep a connection to them. It was almost the same as his Hale triskele tattoo, a way to honor his family and where he came from.

Still smiling to himself, Stiles spoke softly, meaning every word. “You're a good guy, Derek Hale.”

The older man grinned lightly, the tips of his ears going red. “Get dressed,” he spoke through an apparent lump in his throat, pushing up from the bureau, head slightly ducked. “I'll go make breakfast.”

The Omega gave him a thumbs up, deciding not to push him any more. Instead, he bowed his own head and focused on grabbing clothes out his duffel, listening as the other man pulled his shirt on and left. Stiles decided on comfort, slipping on an old Beacon Hills High lacrosse shirt he'd gotten freshman year and loose cotton shorts, things that didn't irritate his sensitive skin too much and would be easy to whip off in a rush.

His conversation with Derek replayed in his mind as he got dressed, the way Derek was dedicated to his family, both sides of it, the way he'd made his mom happy by keeping a surname he disliked for her and his brother. It inevitably led to Stiles wondering what their last name would be if they were Mated, 'Stilinski-Hale-McCall' sounding like a bit of a mouthful.

Not that they'd ever be Mated. Or even date.

Really there was no point to thinking about any of that shit. Fantasizing that they were together as they spooned in bed was one thing; fantasizing about a joined surname was another thing entirely and one that would only lead to even more heartache.

Because he was already headed there. On a bullet train.

Shit.

Clearing his mind, he made sure his scent was nothing but relaxed contentment. A total lie, but he was a coyote, a trickster. Maybe he could even fool himself into thinking he was okay with everything.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Breakfast was scrambled egg whites, turkey bacon, and whole wheat toast, Derek explaining they'll need the protein and carbs since they won't be eating real meals soon and will be participating in a lot of physical activities coming up. Stiles ignored his splotchy blushing by pointing out how it seemed like something he'd serve his dad, leading to a ramble over the diet he had for the elder Stilinski since he suffered from high blood pressure and cholesterol due to his work and being a single Alpha male raising two kids. Derek didn't stop him or judge his verbal diarrhea, simply letting him go on until he felt like he'd made enough of an ass of himself and shut himself up by shoving food in his mouth. The Alpha did, however, comment on his lack of table manners. Again.

Dishes were done together just like every other meal before the elder male handed over the remote. Stiles channel-surfed, not finding anything of interest, until he stumbled upon the familiar scene of a dark-skinned female laying in bed with a white male, both of them discussing “the incident in Bolivia”.

“We missed the best part!” Stiles exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air before slamming both on the couch.

Derek cocked an eyebrow, turning to the Omega with a look of confusion. “What is this?”

His eyes went wide, disbelief coloring his scent, mouth gaping. “Have you seriously never seen _The Losers_?” he practically yelled dubiously, incomprehension growing as the older man shook his head. He let out a sigh, closing his eyes before speaking in a calmer voice. “Tell me you have Netflix on your PS3.”

“I have Netflix on my PS3.”

He reopened his whiskey orbs at the flat tone of the other male's voice, cocking his own eyebrow in a weak imitation of Derek's confused face. “For real? Or is this an Alpha placating his Omega thing?”

“For real,” the older man answered in an amused tone, slipping the remote out Stiles' grasp and setting the TV up. He got up to put on the PlayStation 3, grabbed the control for it, and quickly switched it to Netflix before tossing the remote to his guest.

“Best Alpha everrrr,” the teenager commented with a grin, searching for the movie and pulling it up.

“For real?” Derek questioned in a joking manner, smirk on his face as he plopped back down on his previous seat. “Or is this an Omega placating his Alpha thing?” The light in his green eyes meant he was playing around, just using Stiles' words against him, but for the Omega, it was more than that.

He quickly hid his emotions, masked his scent, played it all off by rolling his eyes and smacking the other man's arm with his remote. But he couldn't do anything to stop the way his stomach started knotting up and his skin started tingling, his coyote wagging its tail and yipping in happiness at the implication that Derek was _his_ Alpha.

But he wasn't. He never would be.

Shoving it all aside, he focused on _The Losers_ as it started playing, introducing the special ops team and their various skills. The distraction worked, allowing him to relax and enjoy himself, mouthing the words with the actors. Derek seemed to enjoy it, too, laughing at the witty one-liners, whistling out in an impressed way at the explosions, scowling at Max and his evil plans.

Some time into the movie, the favorite part Stiles had been referring to earlier started, Jensen—played awesomely by Chris Evans, which really, when did he ever _not_ play a part awesomely?—dressed as a bike courier as he snuck into a fancy office building, loudly singing Journey's “ _Don't Stop Believing_ ”. Stiles jumped up from his seat, singing along with the character, complete with the same hand motions.

“ _Strangers!_ ” he crooned, sweeping his pointed finger across the room. “ _Waiting! Up and down the boulevard!_ ” Fist pump up, fist pump down, sweep hand across the air in front of him, then the song cut off as the elevator doors closed with Jensen in the cart alone.

Derek chuckled, shaking his head, amusement sparkling in his green eyes. “You do realize you're a glasses-less Jensen, right?”

Stiles knew the comment was meant to be slightly insulting, a commentary on how weird and outrageous both of them were, how awkward and dorky they were, how ridiculous and over the top. But the Omega failed to see that as a bad thing, thought Jensen was pretty kickass, his favorite character in the movie. The fact that he was played by Chris Evans certainly didn't hurt.

Adjusting his shirt around his waist, Stiles stared down at Derek, face completely serious as he remained standing in front of the couch. “That mean I'm also Steve Rogers?” he asked with a smirk, acting like a little shit and loving it.

The Alpha snorted. “Maybe a pre-serum Steve, sure.”

“Oh ha ha,” the younger man replied sarcastically, smacking the elder's chest with his hand as he flopped back down onto the couch. He focused on the TV, where Jensen was now being held at gun point by three armed security guards, his fingers pointed like guns at them.

“ _I'm warning you, I am a lethal killing machine,_ ” Jensen spoke gravely, Stiles lip-synching the words. “ _I was a secret government experiment—_ ”

“He's talking about the SSR, right?” Derek asked with a smirk and Stiles feel even more in love with the guy. Because he knew about the SSR and got his Captain America reference and was making jokes about it with Jensen and Chris Evans and fucking hell, Stiles just wanted to _Mate_ the guy already.

Turning his head to the Alpha, Stiles kept his face and tone serious as he spoke. “The fact that you know that makes me wanna jump you, just FYI.”

Another snort. “You're in heat,” the older man pointed out, looking at him with his brows raised. “You wanna jump damn near anything at this point.”

Stiles opened his mouth to argue but the words quickly died in his throat. Because Chris Evans in a skin tight white tee had already kicked his low-level arousal up a notch and Derek knowing Avengers stuff made it worse and now the guy was licking his fucking lips and holy shit! His cock fully hardened almost immediately, hips rolling on the couch, and he had to grab on to the arm of it in order to not launch himself at the other man. Because he was an Alpha and he smelled _so good_ and he'd take care of Stiles _so well_ and...shit.

“Fuck, I gotta—” His voice cracked, words gone, embarrassment rendering him unable to actually state what he needed to. Because he couldn't even get through a fucking movie without needing to palm himself and didn't that make him feel like a stupid weak little Omega. And chances were Derek could smell it, smell his arousal and how his slick was trickling past his hole and _wow_ did he need to take care of that. And now.

He pointed behind himself with his thumb, referring to the bathroom and hoping Derek got it. “You mind?”

Derek shook his head, pausing the movie, barely able to get the words “go for it” out his mouth before Stiles was shooting up off the couch and racing for the bathroom.

He locked the door out of habit more than anything, immediately dropping his shorts and boxers to the floor. His eyes came across a bottle of lube sitting on the counter that most definitely hadn't been there when he'd jacked off first thing that morning and he briefly wondered if Derek had put it there for him when he brushed his teeth earlier.

Not that it really even mattered. The stuff was there and was put out in a place of convenience, obviously meant to be used. It would be rude of him to not take what was offered, right?

He squirted some in his hand before wrapping it around his cock, stroking himself in quick motions. There was no teasing build-up, just like before, setting to work on chasing his orgasm and making it fast.

His teeth sank into his lower lip to bite back any noises he could've made, paranoidly aware of how silent the apartment was with the movie paused and the AC currently not blasting out cold air. So quiet, in fact, that he could hear Derek's heartbeat in the next room as he sat on the couch, fingers drumming on his thigh from the sounds of it.

Stiles closed his eyes and focused on the rhythm pumping of the Alpha's heart, imagined that he was in the bathroom, too, his hand stroking the Omega's. He remembered the feel of it covering his own the day before, his rougher skin, how it was the same size at Stiles' but with shorter, thicker fingers. They'd be perfect though, would wrap around his cock perfectly, would grasp him tightly and stroke him just right. And, fuck, they'd feel great in his ass, too, thick enough to stretch him wide, get him ready for his own cock. And his knot...

A box of tissues sat near the lube and he grabbed one, holding it over the head of his dick with his free hand, feeling himself getting close. He imagined Derek growling in his ear, Alpha commands to come and let him see what a good little Omega he was. It was with that mental image that he came, lips parting in a silent gasp and his eyes opening wide as he spilled himself into the Kleenex. He kept pumping, milking himself until his cock was too sensitive, tossing the soiled tissue into a nearby trashcan.

His coyote was sated, laying on its back with its tongue lolling out its mouth, completely satisfied. And the human felt mostly the same, his skin cooled down slightly, body calmed significantly. Leaning back against the door, he waited for his breathing to return to normal, his heart rate to slow down, and his mind to stop telling him that it was an empty, pointless, waste of an orgasm. Because as much as he was imagining the Alpha on the couch being with him, he wasn't. And wasn't that just depressing as fuck.

Shaking it off, Stiles cleaned himself up and made sure the bathroom was in order, than he hadn't accidentally spilled anything on any surface. Satisfied with his results, he left and headed back to the couch.

Where he felt totally awkward.

Because he totally had just run out in the middle of a movie to jack off. Wow.

Sheepish look on his face, he walked over with cautious steps, hands wringing together in front of his chest. “Sorry 'bout that,” he apologized in a weak voice, feeling like a little kid who'd accidentally wet the bed in the middle of the night.

Derek cocked an eyebrow before turning his body towards the Omega, bent leg laying flat on the couch. “New ground rules,” he declared, eyes hard. “No apologizing for anything that happens this week. Biology is biology and you can't help what your body needs and when.”

The younger man nodded, lips pressed together in a hard line as he sank down onto the couch, fingers still tangling and untangling. “Sounds fair. What's the other?”

“No asking permission to go to the bathroom and take care of your needs. Just go. I won't think you're rude or weak or any shit like that so no need to worry, got it?”

More nodding as he swallowed hard, staring down at his hands. The older man had made a lot of good points. It wasn't like he had any sort of control over his body or the way it would be acting. That was his whole fear going into heat in the first place. So for him to feel bad about it or guilty was ridiculous. And if Derek wasn't having any problems with it, then he shouldn't either. It was all good.

“Got it.”

“Good,” Derek commented in a tone that said the topic was over, case closed, changing into a more concerned matter of speaking. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles answered, because he was, his body satisfied, his solo session in the bathroom helping out. “For now.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of the older man's lips, an apologetic one that said he understood and that he was sorry that Stiles was going through all that because he knew how bad it just flat out sucked. “Wanna finish the movie?” he asked softly, motioning to the TV with his head.

“Yeah.”

One nod from the Alpha and the two of them settled into comfortable positions on the couch, Derek hitting play. Stiles shuffled in place, fidgeted, couldn't get comfy with a low tingle all over his skin, a buzzing in his brain and in his stomach, like bees. Horny bees. Horny bees that infected other people with horniness as they repeatedly stung their victim over and over and over again.

A sigh left Derek, exacerbated, annoyed. But before Stiles could question it or apologize, he was pulled in close, arm around his shoulders and hauling him over. There was more shuffling as they got comfy with their legs on the coffee table, Stiles nestled in the crook of Derek's arm, scent wafting off a muscular bicep and into his nose with every inhale. The tingling calmed, the buzzing more tolerable, allowing his mind to shut up and enjoy the movie.

He had a feeling it wouldn't last very long though.


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles managed to make it through the rest of the movie before needing to rush to the bathroom to jack off again. Afterward, he wasn't in much of a TV mood anymore, wanting to snuggle up into something and just... _be_. Derek told him it was normal for an Omega to feel that way, grabbing a spare sheet from the linen closet since Stiles' skin was too hot for anything thicker, then suggesting they take it easy and read. The younger man asked if they could do it in the bedroom, the Alpha telling him anything he wanted was fine by him.

Soon, the twosome were side by side on the bed, Stiles with a sheet wrapped around him and over his head, legs pulled up to his chest, book in hand. He remembered doing the same thing when he was a little kid and was feeling upset or uncomfortable. His parents always indulged him, even letting him sit like that at the table during dinner if it was a particularly bad day—as they often were after his mom's death. He knew now that they understood it was part of Omega nature, the need to feel covered and secured in some way when everything else was shifting out of place.

It explained why he actually liked being the little spoon with Derek, despite his outward complaints.

He decided to read _The Twilight Zone: The Original Stories_ , mainly because his mind was still buzzing and he figured it would be easier to focus on several short stories than one long one with a complicated plot that he'd actually had to pay attention to. His attention wasn't all that great on the best of days and with his arousal still a buzzing presence in the back of his mind, he knew he wouldn't be able to really focus on a long book.

Derek lay beside him reading _A Brief History of Time_ , which Stiles called him a dork for, getting a middle finger in response before the two of them got lost in their books. The silence was nice, comfortable, and Stiles felt himself finally be at ease with everything. Well, as much at ease as possible when still stuck in a low level of arousal that always seemed to hit pretty much as soon as he came down from his post-orgasmic high. But the Alpha's scent still clinging to the borrow sheet was helping, his coyote enjoying the sensation of being wrapped up in the smell, the cinnamony tinge to it making him feel content.

Lunch was chips and sandwiches eaten on the bed, Stiles leaving halfway through to relieve himself again, now having to use his fingers in order to bring himself to completion. Derek smirked upon his return, joking that the younger man must _really_ like cashew butter.

“Is that why the PB and Js tasted different?” Stiles questioned, snuggling back up in his sheet. “'Cause they're actually _C_ B and Js?”

The Alpha nodded and Stiles devoured his second sandwich, requesting a third one, which Derek made for him without complaint.

The afternoon passed mostly in peace, another two interruptions from the Omega's dick. And his ass really, given the increase in his slick and the way his hole twitched with demands to be filled. Derek never commented or acted out of the ordinary whenever Stiles returned, but the younger man still noticed an increasing tension in the older, his muscles tightening and his fists clenched around his book. But if the Alpha wasn't gonna say anything, then he wasn't gonna point it out, figuring there wasn't really any reason for them to talk about it.

But the orgasms got worse as the day wore on, release harder to come by—no pun intended—and each one left him feeling more empty than the last—and he was ninety-nine percent sure it had nothing to do with the fact that his passage hadn't been filled by anything other than a couple fingers. Yet he ignored it every time, refused to think about it or try to come up with reasons why he continued to feel more alone and bummed out each time he came.

Pizza was ordered for dinner, leading Stiles to joke about how it didn't go along with Derek's usual healthy diet. The older man just shrugged as he set the two boxes on his bed, roll of paper towels being used as napkins.

“If I can't cheat this week, then when can I?”

Stiles see-sawed his head in concession, thoughtful pout on his face. “What's the number one food you'd eat every day if you could?” he asked, genuinely curious, before taking a huge bite out of his pepperoni pizza. Because he was all about the classics and Derek was a heathen who ruined his pie with ham and pineapple. He and Danny could both go elsewhere with that bullshit. Gross.

“Cinnamon rolls,” Derek answered without hesitation, pausing to drink some of his water. “I could devour an entire pack by myself, used to all the time when I was a kid. I'm lucky I didn't end up weighing five-hundred pounds.”

The Omega grinned as he chewed, remembering a thirteen year old Derek yelling at Scott to back the fuck away from his cinnamon rolls, that he'd bought them with his own money and that there was no way his little bratty brother was getting one. Stiles had given him a wide-eyed pleading look and the Alpha had relented almost immediately, giving one to the younger boy, who then in turn shared it with Scott because that's what true bros do. Scott had pouted while eating it though, muttering about how unfair it was that Derek listened to Stiles and not him because Derek was _his_ brother and should share with _him_. Malia tromped into the room, declared it was 'cause Stiles was an Omega and snatched her own brother's half of the cinnamon roll.

He cried until Derek shut him up with another. He didn't share it with anyone that time, just locked himself in the bathroom with the gooey treat and enjoyed it slowly, even as his twin pounded at the door and called him every bad name an eight year old could think up. It was a whole lotta shit she called him every other day of the week, too.

But Scott got his revenge when it came to all things Reese's: the peanut butter cups, the pieces, the cereal. He used to stash it in his room so Derek couldn't have any, starting countless wrestling matches that generally ended with one or both of them covered in smeared peanut butter and chocolate and an agitated mom who would just throw her hands up and tell them to clean it all up because she was just done with it.

“You sound like Scott with any Reese's candy,” Stiles commented with a smirk, sucking tomato sauce off his thumb. “I used to tell him he got his scent from them.”

A huff of a laugh left Derek before he swallowed. “Nah. He took after our mom's almond scent,” he stated mildly before his voice and scent turned into something bitter with anger. “Thank god. Couldn't stand Rafael's jalapeno scent. Used to irritate my nose.”

“Should've been a sign,” the Omega muttered, referring to what a shitty dad McCall had been to Scott and an even shittier step-dad he'd been to Derek. Stiles' eavesdropping meant he'd heard more than one convo and phone call between Melissa and his mom, then Melissa and his dad regarding her now ex-husband's treatment of her and her boys, his drinking habits and his anger issues. Sure they were animals, but they were also mostly human and there was a thing called being a decent human being. Apparently no one had told Rafael about this and he'd let his rage at what minor irritant had gotten under his skin completely take over and dealt with it by yelling at and even slapping around his family. Scott was too young to remember any details, although he confessed to flashes of loud voices and crawling into his brother's bed at night to gain some sort of comfort. Derek, being five years older, remembered it all and had never liked the guy in the first place. His behavior after his mom's wedding to him didn't help endear him to his step-son.

The day he left, the Hale-McCall family had a bonfire in their backyard. Stiles later found out that Melissa was burning their Mating certificate and photos from the ceremony, as well as other mementos from that disastrous relationship.

Derek snorted, tossing a half-eaten crust onto his box with more force than needed. “Yeah. That, plus almonds and jalapenos don't exactly mix well together.”

Stiles nodded, eyebrows knitting together in sadness as he stared down at his slice. “My parents were coffee and cream.”

“Almonds and sugar,” the Alpha murmured, his own head ducked as a heavy weight descended over them, the memories of lost loved ones bringing the moment and their moods down.

Several long silent moments past, neither knowing what to say now or how to bring the mood back up, neither feeling much like eating anymore. Derek muttered that he needed to take the trash out, cleaning up the mess on the bed and stating he was gonna put the leftovers in the fridge for a snack later. Stiles just nodded, teeth sunk into his bottom lip, eyes glued to the older man as he left the room.

Well, glued to his _ass_ as he left the room more specifically.

Hate to see him leave; love to watch him go.

Stiles' mind and skin started buzzing again, arousal beginning to spike up once more. His entire body felt restless, fidgety, and he shoved the sheet off himself before getting up off the bed and wandering around. He scanned the figurines again, fiddled with the _Star Wars_ Pez dispensers on top of the DVD player on the bureau, got nosy and literally shoved his face into the closet.

Where he stumbled upon the greatest thing ever.

“Oh my god!” he cried out, not hesitating to reach inside and grab hold of his new discoveries.

“What're you doing?” Derek demanded to know, his sudden appearance making Stiles flail and get tangled within a plethora of dark tees and Henleys.

Finally freeing himself, he turned to face the Alpha, huge grin on his face that couldn't be dampened by anything, including the scowl on the face of the man by the door. “ _Dude!_ ” he cried out again, holding up his new finds. “You never told me you have these!”

With a press of the button, the two lightsabers he'd found lit up, one blue and one red, one light side and one dark side. Both totally awesome and fun and holy shit, they even made noises when they were waved around!

“These're so fucking _cool_!”

The tips of Derek's ears went red, head ducking slightly as he shuffled over, taking the red one from Stiles' left hand, the light switching off. “Yeah?”

“Hell fucking yes!” he commented louder than necessary, but whatever. Shit like this deserved loud voices and excited cries and oh my god, they were so gonna play with these, he didn't care that he was eighteen and technically an adult. Scott had never seen _Star Wars_ —which really was Derek's failure as a big brother there—and Malia didn't get it, so Stiles had never really had anyone to play lightsaber fights with. Except Greenberg on the lacrosse team, their sticks substituting as the laser-swords, and he didn't even get the dialogue right or understand Stiles' references or recognize any allusions to _Space Balls_.

Which really...

“Dude,” he began, switching his lightsaber off and dropping his arm to his side, face growing serious. “Tell me you've seen _Space Balls_.”

A smirk grew on Derek's face, eyes lighting up as he moved his lightsaber so he was holding it in front of his crotch, flipping it on. “I see your Schwartz is as big as mine,” he commented with a cocked eyebrow.

Stiles' grin damn near hurt his face as he raised his own lightsaber in a similar fashion. “It's not the size that counts; it's how you use it!” he replied in an indignant manner, shaking his head in offense.

The Alpha dropped his lightsaber, eyebrow cocked in confusion now. “Isn't that from _Robin Hood: Men in Tights_?”

“Shit,” he frowned. “Wrong Mel Brooks parody.”

Derek just nodded then smirked, swinging his lightsaber at Stiles.

“Whoa! Cheating!” the teenager cried foul, barely managing to get his weapon up to defend himself in time.

The Alpha just smirked more. The bastard.

An epic battle broke out between the two, lightsabers swinging, clashing together, the toys making the appropriate sounds as they were moved and hit. They maneuvered about the room as they fought, grins on their faces as they avoided furniture and Stiles' dirty clothes that he was too lazy to actually put in his duffel. The Omega hopped up on the bed to get the upper hand, Derek smirking up at him as he held his lightsaber in front of himself in defense.

“Before you die, there is something you must know, Lone Star,” he stated in a foreboding voice, further quoting _Space Balls_ and the final battle between the villain, Dark Helmet, and the hero, Lone Star.

If Stiles wasn't already halfway in love with the guy, that would've done it.

He fought the smirk threatening to spread across his face, trying to keep it curious yet cautious, staring at the older man out the corner of his eyes with an eyebrow raised in suspicion. “What?”

Derek looked like he was having trouble keeping a straight face, too, hand held out with his fingers upturned, mimicking Vader when he asked Luke to join him so they could rule the galaxy as father and son. “I am your father's brother's nephew's cousin's former roommate.”

Both of them dropped their lightsabers to their sides, Stiles impressed that Derek was able to remember all that and in the right order. He furrowed his brow in pretend confusion, playing along. “What's that make us?”

“Absolutely nothing,” the Alpha answered, smirk breaking through before his face grew serious once more. “Which is what you are about to become.”

Stiles let out a war cry before leaping off the bed, swinging his lightsaber at the older man. Derek held his up over his head, defending himself from the blow, the two resuming their battle. They made their way around the bed, the Omega nearly hitting the Death Star pinata above them before actually smacking the Alpha's arm with it.

Hard.

His eyes widened in shock, the feeling spreading all over as he was suddenly pinned back against the wall, letting out an “oof!” as the wind was knocked out of him. He lost his grip on the lightsaber, the toy falling to the ground next to him unnoticed, his focus zeroed in entirely on the man pressing against him. Because he was seriously _pressing against him_.

Derek had his lightsaber laying across Stiles' throat, pressing it in just enough to be felt but not to hurt or choke him in any way. Not that Stiles was even breathing all that well, his chest heaving with shaky breaths as the situation caught up to him. He could feel every muscular inch of Derek along his leaner frame, feel flat pecs rising and falling against his less toned ones, could feel a wider waist and ripped midsection against his skinny one.

Could feel a well-formed bulge against his hardening one.

Stiles inhaled sharply, cinnamon flooding his nostrils and making his mind swirl with need and want and desire and all the things. He felt his cock instantly stiffen up, his passage leaking slick more than it had all day, coyote whining in desperation. He had to fight to keep his hips still and against the wall, to not let them buck and grind the way they so badly wanted to.

“Any last words, Lone Star?” Derek asked with a smirk, still playing along, further pressing into the younger man.

Oh jesus fuck.

The Omega felt his eyes roll to the back of his head as a groin was pressed against his, the sweetest friction being created within the confines of his boxers. A groan escaped him before he could bite it back, head lolling to the side in a show of submission, entire body going limp with it. Because he was turned on, ready and willing, and the Alpha could do anything he wanted to Stiles and Stiles would be _totally_ okay with it.

 _Anything_.

Only Derek didn't act on it, didn't take what was offered. Instead, he backed up a few steps, until the back of his knees collided with the bed, giving Stiles space.

Which was totally not what he wanted, was the opposite of what he wanted.

His eyes flipped open—which when had he even closed them?—confusion on his brow before reality set in. It was just another wave of his heat, another spike, that was all. And Derek knew that, knew that he didn't have permission to touch Stiles just yet and was respecting the wishes his more logical mind had asked for. His submission and his agreeable nature were just part of the heat fucking with his head, his Omega nature taking control, and Derek knew this, recognized it. He was fighting his own Alpha instincts to take and mount and _claim_ by giving what the Omega had originally wanted: to take care of things by himself until he requested otherwise.

The reality of it had Stiles pushing away from the wall and bolting to the bathroom, slamming the door shut in his haste. His shorts were down in a now well-practiced move, lube quickly squirted into his hand, fingers soon wrapped around his cock and stroking. The fingers of his free hand were slowly slipped inside him one at a time, until he had three working in and out of his hole, struggling to get at his prostate at the awkward angle yet somehow still managing to graze it at times.

But he still couldn't come.

He let out a whine of frustration, both wrists hurting, forearms getting tired. It felt like he was right on the precipice, his orgasm lurking _just there_ , yet for whatever reason, it wasn't coming, he was tipping over the edge. And god did that just fucking _suck_!

A knock sounded on the door, a faster than usual heartbeat thudding just behind it. Shit. Derek. Fuck and Stiles was stuck in there beating off and the guy probably had to pee or something.

Although he could just go through Isaac's room and use his bathroom. He wasn't entirely sure on the protocols on using a roomie's commode when they weren't home, but surely the guy would make an exception given the circumstances.

“I'll just be a minute,” he called through the door, stroking himself faster, fingers thrusting in at a higher speed, the determination to make himself come—and fucking _soon_ —giving him a renewed vigor. Or something. He didn't know. He wasn't really thinking of anything except orgasming and how to make that happen.

“Okay, but,” the Alpha started then paused, the sound of his fingers scratching at his beard hitting Stiles' ears. “You've been in there for about forty-five of them already.”

That had his actions stilling, his eyes widening as he looked at his reflection. His skin was a blotchy red, thin sheen of sweat covering it, hair laying flat all over, not bothering to style it that morning. His eyes were a dull Omega gold and he curled his lip up, thankful to see blunt teeth. A quick check of the hand around his dick showed his claws hadn't made an appearance either.

He slipped his fingers out his ass just to be safe.

Both hands slamming on the counter, he let out a whine-tinged groan that turned into a growl at the end. He was beyond frustrated, body keyed up to hell and he was just...yeah, he was over it, was so fucking done with this whole heat thing, especially if he couldn't even find a release by...well, by releasing really.

Fuck. His. Life.

“Do you, uh. Do you maybe. Ya know. Want a, uh. A hand?” Derek somehow managed to get out and Stiles could practically hear the wince during the last two words.

Understandable. Because really?

“Really?”

“Yeah, I know, that was fucking terrible.” The sound of his palm rubbing over his face was heard during the pause before the Alpha spoke again. “But seriously. Need help?”

Stiles lifted his head from where he was bent over the counter, meeting his reflection once again. He honestly had no idea. Because they still hadn't even changed while still in the same room as one another and while jerking off to the fantasy of Derek was one thing, having Derek actually be in the room was on a whole 'nother level. One Stiles wasn't even sure he could see, much less be on. Because Derek was perfect and gorgeous and strong and an Alpha, and Stiles was gangly and pale and awkward and a weak little Omega who couldn't even stroke himself to completion, despite having done so for the past five years or so.

Including in bathrooms.

Where Derek had walked in on him.

It was his fifteen year old self's fantasy, being caught jerking it in the bathroom and Derek offering him a hand. And how often does one get the chance to act out a fantasy, and with the object of said fantasy? Plus it wasn't like he wasn't gonna need Derek's help eventually. Might as well just get it over with.

He swallowed hard and steeled his nerves, mind made up. Kicking off his shorts, he stepped over to the door and unlocked it, opening it up to the sight of a tensed up Alpha. Whose scent was overwhelming and holy god, did Stiles wanna just roll around in it and why wasn't he just all over that?

A groan left him, head lolling back, eyes closed. “I can't,” he panted out before collapsing against Derek's chest. Strong arms wrapped around him, holding him up, and he clutched at the older man's tee. “I can't finish. I can't do it. I just can't do it.” He was rambling, he was vaguely aware of it, but he couldn't stop his mouth from moving, face buried between the older man's pecs.

The Alpha rubbed at his back, lips pressed to his hair. “Shh. It's okay. I got you.”

Stiles' only response was to whimper, trembling too much for words. He felt himself being backed up and he tightened his grip, pressed closer to Derek

The door was shut behind them in a mock semblance of privacy—since it was just the two of them in the apartment and it was highly unlikely that anyone was gonna walk in on them—Derek moving them to Stiles' previous position near the counter. His hands gently wrapped around Stiles' upper arms, pulling at him, trying to maneuver him around.

But that shit wasn't gonna happen. Stiles wasn't letting go for anything. Because Derek smelled _soooo_ good and was so warm and Stiles felt less like he was gonna crawl out his skin with the Alpha's scent in his nose and body against his.

“I'm not going anywhere, okay?” the older man assured him, lips pressed to his hair as he spoke, hands rubbing up and down his arms in soothing motions. “I just wanna turn you around so I can help you easier, all right? I've still got you and I'm not letting you go until you tell me to.”

Stiles nodded, forehead rubbing against cotton. His teeth sank into his bottom lip as he turned around, immediately pressing back against the larger man, arms wrapping around his midsection. A groan escaped past his lips as he felt the line of Derek's hard cock along his bare crack, nudging at his entrance and causing a fresh wave of slick spilling out. “Derek,” he whined, hips bucking back against him.

“Shh,” the other man soothed him, pressing his lips against his cheek and inhaling deep. “I got you.”

The Omega just kept bucking, kept grinding back, making Derek growl in his ear, which in turn, made Stiles groan. “Derek, _please_.”

“I know, baby, I know.” With that, he slid his hand down and wrapped his fingers around his cock. “Relax, okay? Just let your Alpha take care of you.”

Stiles moaned at his words, head falling back onto Derek's shoulder, eyes drifting closed. His hips moved back and forth between the other man's hard cock, which was now grinding back against his hole, and his fist. “Oh fuck,” he breathed out, hands gripping at the arm still wrapped around his waist, blunt fingernails digging into his skin.

The Alpha laid his head alongside the younger man's, rubbing his stubbled cheek against his smooth one. “Smell so good,” he confessed on a near growl, his arm tightening around a lean waist and holding him closer. His hips ground harder, hand stroked faster, his breath coming out in pants against Stiles' skin.

The Omega wasn't any better off, his own breathing erratic and shaky and out of control. But some part of him was still able to hear and analyze the other man's words, to realize what exactly he'd said and mentally snort. “You smell better,” he commented, nuzzling against Derek. “Smell like virile Alpha.”

And he did. He smelled good and strong and some basic, animalistic part of him had the stupid thought about how Derek could breed him and take care of him and be the Alpha he needed.

“Mm,” Derek hummed against his skin. “And this Alpha is gonna take care of his Omega, help his Omega come, gonna knot him over and over, as many times as he wants.”

Stiles groaned louder than ever, feeling himself reach that apex once again. His mind was inundated with images of being knotted by Derek, of having the hard cock that was rubbing against his hole actually slip inside and stay there, tying them together as the Alpha repeatedly came, filling him up.

And with that thought, Stiles finally, _finally_ came.

He gasped loudly, nearly doubling over as his eyes widened and his muscles tensed up. He was vaguely aware of his claws digging into Derek's arm, of his come pulsing out of his cock, of his eyes flashing a bright gold in his reflection. But most of his focus was on the ecstasy rushing all over his body and the man who'd allowed that to happen.

Derek stroked him through it, holding him close as he trembled and slowly came back to earth, not pausing his motions until Stiles hissed in discomfort.

And then breathed out a surprised and tired “holy shit.”

“You okay?” the Alpha questioned, concern dripping off every word.

Stiles nodded vehemently, tired bones making his neck feel like jelly. “That was,” he paused, panting. “Awesome.” He grinned widely, feeling giddy and goofy, like the time he'd tried pot with Malia and Scott or the first time he'd gotten drunk at Lydia's sweet sixteen party.

Only, like, five million times better.

Derek smirked, self-satisfaction rolling off him in waves, slowly releasing the smaller man and extracting himself. “I'll let you get cleaned up, alright?” he suggested softly, stepping towards the door only to be stopped by Stiles grabbing hold of his forearm.

“Wait!” he called out, watching as the older man looked at where he gripped his arm then back up at his eyes. “Don't you, uh.” Shit. There was seriously no way to ask his current thought without sounding awkward. But he needed to put it out there, felt like a prick for having come with the guy's help without returning the favor. Only fair, right?

But it wasn't _just_ about evening things out between them. Stiles _wanted_ Derek to come, wanted him to feel the same pleasure he'd just had coursing through his body. He wanted to please him and make him happy and prove what a good little Omega he could be.

Plus, if he was being totally honest with himself, he wanted to see Derek's cock, too, to hold it and see how they were the same, how they were different, see what Derek liked and what he didn't, if the things that got him off worked on the older man, too.

“What about you?” he questioned, pressing his lips together and wringing his fingers in front of his chest.

The tips of Derek's ears went red, eyes darting away as he cleared his throat. Stiles' brow furrowed, his own whiskey orbs looking the other man up and down. Or mainly just at his crotch, because the bulge wasn't as prevalent, but there was a huge wet spot there. Probably from all the slick that had come from Stiles that he could still feel dripping down his crack and onto his thighs.

But when he inhaled, Stiles got the scent of something else, something unknown. He sniffed the air, sorting through all the smells before realizing it was the scent of come. _Two kinds_ of come. From two people.

Holy.

Wow, okay, so that happened then.

“Ah. Right.”

The Alpha nodded, sheepish look on his face as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah. So. I'll let you get cleaned up.” He turned away, attempt number two to leave, but Stiles tightened his grip on his forearm.

“Thanks,” he said appreciatively. “For. That.” Because he was nothing if not awkward and needed to have an addition to his statement of gratitude that halfway referred to what just happened. Not that he could flat out say “hey, thanks for the orgasm. Was pretty cool”. Nope, not something he was capable of.

Total winner.

“New ground rule,” Derek declared. “No thanking me for anything this week.”

Stiles just nodded, figuring it was safer than actually talking, finally dropping his hand from the larger man's forearm. Taking it as permission, Derek left the room, shutting the door behind himself.

And that was that. Stiles' first orgasm brought on by someone else. And it happened in a bathroom.

Classy.

Whatever, at least it wasn't a _public_ bathroom and it was with someone he was actually into and cared about. Plus side and all that.

His eyes caught his reflection once again, noting the changes in his appearance. He had beard burn on his neck and cheek, slick drying between his thighs, come on his shirt and the head of his cock. Before he knew it, he was imagining the mess everywhere, beard burn all over his skin from Derek scent marking him, come streaked all over his torso to the point where he had no idea if it'd come from his dick or the other man's.

He shook his head, dislodging the image. He didn't really need to help his arousal do its thing, his heat handling that all on its own. Which was just lovely really.

With a sigh, he slipped his shirt over his head and cut the shower on, deciding he needed an all over wash after all the jacking off and quick clean ups he'd performed throughout the day. He made fast work of the shower, a basic wash of his body and hair, not playing around with it. Or himself.

There were no clean clothes in the bathroom, something that had freaked him out the day before. But now he wasn't too worked up over it. He wasn't sure if it was due to his heat messing with him and making him more comfortable with his nudity—or semi-nudity, whatever—or if it was because he realize the other man had already seen his cock so there was no point in being so bashful about all of it. Whatever the case, he shuffled through to the bathroom with just a towel wrapped around his waist, finding Derek sitting on the edge of his bed still in the same clothes, phone pressed to his ear.

“I know, I know,” he sighed down the line, not turning to acknowledge the new arrival.

Stiles gave him his privacy as he tip-toed over to his duffel, consciously blocking out the other end of the phone call.

“I gotta—yeah I am, but I go—Right.”

The Omega crouched by his bag, grabbing a pair of boxers and slipping them on under the towel. He then tossed the wet cotton into the hamper in Derek's closet, earning a thumbs up from the Alpha.

“I know. Ri— _I know_ ,” he sighed again, hand pinching the bridge of his nose. “I gotta go, he's out the shower. Yeah, yeah. Oh for fuck's sakes, _I know_!”

Stiles rose up to his feet, eyebrows raised at the change in tone, at the near growl Derek let out before he calmed himself down almost immediately.

“See ya.” He ended the call and stood up, scowling down at the phone like it was the one that had aggravated him.

"You know a lotta shit," Stiles commented with a smirk, hoping to lighten the mood. He added a small laugh, shoving a hand through his wet hair when he realized how forced and fake it sounded.

"Nah, Erica's just repetitive" Derek clarified, lips turned up at the corner in amusement like he knew what the Omega had been trying to do and appreciated the effort. That or there was some sorta inside, private joke over Erica's repetitiveness that Stiles wasn't in on. "Oh and she says to tell Bambi she says 'hi' and if I don't call you Bambi when I say it, she'll rip my pretty lips off my gorgeous face."

The younger man just stared blankly for a long silent moment, not entirely sure how to react. "I still don't know if I like her or if she terrifies me too much," he commented honestly, tapping the fingers of one hand against the palm of the other.

"Same here," the Alpha snorted, distracting himself by plugging his cell in before sauntering over to his drawers. Although it might not have been a saunter so much as trying not to walk too awkwardly and make it totally obvious that there's dried come inside your boxer-briefs and dried slick on the outside of your shorts.

They definitely didn't cover the messiness of everything in Heat Sex Ed.

"I'm gonna shower," Derek announced as he grabbed a clean pair of undies before turning back to Stiles. His eyes widened briefly in shock only to quickly recover and the Omega felt a wave of paranoia wash over himself, worried that there was something wrong with him. 

Besides the usual, of course.

"And probably shave, considering how red you are."

"No!" Stiles objected loudly, hands flying out in front of him as though he was gonna grab the guy and physically stop him. Because Derek with a beard was pretty much the most beautiful, sexy, gorgeous sight ever and Stiles was planning to look his full over the week to add to even more fantasies starring the Alpha. Not to mention how awesome it felt when it was rubbed against him, that incredible blend of pain/pleasure that got mixed up in his head and made the whole thing even more mind-blowing.

And then he realized how quickly he'd objected and how desperate and obvious that made him seem.

Obvious much?

"I mean," he tried then failed, hands being brought in towards his chest where he drummed his fingers together. "I like the beard. And the burn. I don't mind the irritation."

Derek quirked his lips, eyes sparkling in amusement. "Okay," he chuckled out. "No shaving then. Be back soon."

Stiles nodded, gave him a thumbs up then felt even dumber, face palming as soon as the Alpha was out the room. Such. A. Moron.

With a sigh, he climbed into bed, grabbing his book off the nightstand where he'd put it before dinner. He made it through halfway another story before Derek came back, clad in a fresh pair of boxer-briefs and smelling like clean, virile Alpha.

Stiles snuggled down further under the covers, focusing on his book more than anything. Because thinking about Derek or anything Derek related was a terrible idea that led to him taking another trip to the bathroom. He barely managed to get through the last round—okay, totally didn't cause he'd needed help—he wasn't sure he'd survive the next one.

The Alpha slid under the covers with him, grabbing his own book before getting settled with a good six inches of space between the two of them. Which ordinarily would be okay, just the guy being polite and whatever but after what'd happened in the bathroom, Stiles wasn't sure if he was so fond of the distance. It made things feel awkward—well, _more_ awkward anyway—and caused his coyote to whine out of anxiety. Not that the human half could blame it really, his own thoughts taking on a more worried feel. After all, he and Derek had been pretty snuggly and physically close for the past couple days. Why should it be any different?

Okay, so the Alpha had seen his cock. And had touched it. And had stroked him to completion while thrusting against his ass and coming in his undies like a teenager. But surely that'd bring them even closer, would knock down any barriers of weirdness and nerves over the whole thing, let them both know that this week was gonna be okay and that there was nothing to freak out about.

Unless Derek was having second thoughts. Maybe what'd happened in the bathroom had opened the Alpha's eyes and made the whole thing real, when before it was just this vague concept. Maybe the reality of it all settled in and he fully figured out what he'd signed up for and that it wasn't what he wanted anymore. Maybe he realized that what he thought he'd be okay with, he actually wasn't, and that he wanted nothing to so with any of it.

Stiles couldn't blame him for that either. But he could still feel an aching in his chest and a churn in his stomach and a saddened coyote whimpering.

Masking his scent, he looked down at his book, realizing he hadn't read a single word since Derek had settled into bed with him. And really, there was no point in trying to read, his mind buzzing with self-deprecating thoughts and the belief that the older man didn't want him, not to mention that low buzz of arousal and awareness over the fact that an Alpha was _right there_.

And he'd been led to believe an Alpha would actually _help_ him during his heat, would make it _easier_. Sure, right, whatever.

He muttered that he was tired, putting the book back on the nightstand before shuffling off to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He studiously avoided his reflection, not wanting to see any further evidence of the activities he and Derek had participated in, and he resolutely ignored the memory of what had happened the last time he was in that bathroom. Instead, he focused in the scents of the mint toothpaste, the clean water running through the tap, the body wash they'd both used in the shower, and the humidity that still hung around.

He relieved himself in the toilet with a half-chub he'd seemed to be sporting since lunch, washing his hands before deeming himself ready for sleep.

Derek was already laying down when Stiles returned to the room, back to the center of the bed. He didn't say anything as the younger man made his way to his side in the dark, no "good night", no "sweet dreams", no "sleep well", nothing. The Omega hid the hurt from that, too, sliding in under the covers and settling them about his waist as he laid on his back, staring at the ceiling.

Which only lasted about two minutes because what the hell? Where were the snuggles and the spooning and the "I'm doing this so you can't fidget and I can actually get some sleep"?

"Der?" he prompted meekly, brow drawn in determination and worry, fingers drumming against the mattress on either side of his body.

He got a sleepy "mm?" as a response and took it as a sign to keep going, that the other man w as awake and listening.

"Are things gonna be awkward between us now?"

"Only if you make 'em." His heartbeat was steady, scent minimal and calm. Not a lie.

Stiles nodded against his pillow, licking his lips. "So why are you facing away from me?"

Derek slightly turned his head towards him, peeking over his shoulder with one eye, a brow cocked. "Thought you wanted to be big spoon."

Holy...seriously?

A shoulder was shrugged, letting Stiles know the words hadn't stayed in his head like he thought they had. "Up to you," Derek replied before settling back onto his own pillow, shuffling slightly.

A small grin formed on his face as he turned and scoots closer, arm draped around a trim waist, bare chest pressed against a bare back. He let out a contented sigh as he snuggled the other man, smile growing as fingers entwined with his, coyote sated with the knowledge that their Alpha was still happy with them and was letting himself be held close.

It took three minutes for Stiles to decide he didn't like being big spoon.

Because his right hand was falling asleep where it was laying above Derek's head on his pillow and his own head was at a weird angle and for some reason all he could think about was how coyotes in the wild chew off their own legs to get out of traps.

Not exactly thoughts conducive to drifting off to a peaceful slumber.

Not for him anyway.

"Stiles," Derek spoke with a mix of a growl and a sigh and the mentioned man would actually be pretty impressed with how he managed to do it. If he wasn't the one on the receiving end of an Alpha's aggravation, that is.

"Yeah, I don't like being big spoon," he decided, right hand flicking up then down in an attempt to get rid of the tingles in his fingers. Strange how one body part falling asleep prevented his mind from doing that very same thing. Ironic.

Derek heaved out a sigh before turning over, Stiles following suit. A few rearranged limbs later and they were settled, the Alpha holding the Omega close, nose buried in his head and half-hard cock laying between his cheeks.

The way it should be.


	9. Chapter 9

He was over thinking it. But really, that was kind of his thing. And the current situation he found himself in required over thinking.

Three am. Wide awake. Cock hard, ass leaking, and desperately in need of getting filled.

Like badly.

 _Real_ badly.

Like he felt like he was gonna burn up if he didn't get something in him soon kinda badly.

Hence the term "heat" really.

Only problem with that—aside from the obvious _need to be filled fucking now_ thing—was he had no clue how exactly to handle that.

Yeah, Derek had helped him earlier with getting off, but that wasn't blanket permission to keep helping him each time. The Alpha might be under the impression that it was just the once until Stiles asked him again or gave him a "from here on out, just do it" card. They hadn't really discussed if Derek volunteering to "lend a hand" meant he'd automatically do the same every time the Omega was keyed up and desperate for release.

Plus the guy was still fast asleep. And from what Stiles had been told, they'd both need all the rest they could get. Seemed rude to wake him up in the middle of the night to just use him for an orgasm. Surely Miss Manners would have something to say about that, something along the lines of "don't do it, you prick."

Sneaking to the bathroom was an option, one he'd followed through on the morning before. But last time he'd been in there with the sole intent of getting off, he'd spent nearly an hour jacking off and had needed Derek's help to finally come. He'd warned him that it would get harder to bring himself to completion without an Alpha's help and he'd been right and now Stiles was scared that his body had gotten accustomed to having that scent in his nose and using it to bring himself off and now he wouldn't be able to come again without the Alpha.

At least for the rest of his heat.

Although there was a huge possibility it would also be for the rest of his life, considering the fact that he was fairly certain jerking off wouldn't be the same after having Derek do it for him, despite the incredible spank bank material he now had.

Crap.

Stiles buried his face in his hands as he laid on his side facing away from the other man, who despite having moved onto his back still had a hand on the younger's hip. And the Omega could feel it burning into his skin, mind racing with thoughts of how he could surreptitiously shuffle about to get that hand on his cock or inside him. But he refused to do any of that, the ideas too close to actually just _using_ Derek like some sorta fuck toy with the sole purpose of getting him off. And he wasn't so far gone that he'd be okay with that—although he hoped that he'd never be okay with it, no matter how deep into his heat he was—morals instilled by his parents making him feel guilty about those thoughts even forming in his head.

Fucking hell, even thinking about his parents wasn't dampening his arousal.

A groan sounded out from behind him, joints creaking and mattress squeaking as Derek stretched in his half-sleep state. Only to freeze halfway through, scenting the air then letting out a low rumbling growl.

Well, at least now Stiles didn't have to worry about whether or not he should wake the older man up, since he was clearly doing that by himself.

"Stiles?" the Alpha rumbled, the sound of his name spoken in a rough manner making his cock twitch and his hole spasm as it tried to stretch open further.

He swallowed hard, dropping his hand from his face to clutch at the sheet, too nervous to turn around. He let out a shaky "yeah?" as he braced himself for what was coming next, fully prepared to march himself to the bathroom to take care of it himself.

"New ground rule," the Alpha started, pausing to swallow hard, breathing harder than before. Stiles could feel the tension in the hand still on his hip and just knew Derek was trying his hardest to remain still and not just jump him and take him in any way. "You wake up aroused and need help? Wake _me_ up."

Well that solved that dilemma, too.

He nodded vehemently, flopping over onto his back, head turned to the older man. The street lights shining through the window were partially obscured by the blinds, casting strange lines over the Alpha's face. But Stiles could still see his nostrils flaring as he tried to regulate his breathing, see the tension around his mouth and eyes, see the way his irises were dimly glowing red in reaction to the Omega's scent.

"Der," he called out weakly, fingers grazing a toned shoulder, body feeling shaky all over. "Need you."

A muscular body settled over his lean one, pressing against him enough to be felt but not to smother or suffocate. Although Stiles still felt like it was harder to breathe, the flames licking at his insides getting worse with the weight of the other man on top of him. His cock throbbed between them, hole leaking and partially stretched, and everything was intensified at the sensation of an Alpha against him but not _in_ him.

He spread his legs to accommodate the older man, grasping onto thick biceps as he whimpered, hips bucking up in search of relief. "Need you," he repeated with a groan, desperate to get this shit on the road and get something inside him.

"What do you want?" Derek questioned, nose nuzzling the younger man's, words breathed out against his lips in a tease that made him cry out as his arousal shot up. "What exactly so you need?"

A million ideas ran through his mind, demands to be kissed, cuddled, petted, held down as the Alpha did whatever he wanted to him. But he kept them all to himself, some still logical part of him remembering that he couldn't say any of that shit.

Although it couldn't remember _why_ , which was annoying at hell.

But Stiles had more pressing matters to attend to, like the hard dick _pressing_ at the inside of his boxers and the Alpha _pressing_ down against him, and why there wasn't anything _pressing into_ him.

"Empty," he moaned out, hitching a leg up and around Derek's hips. He used it as leverage to pull himself up and grind into the older man's half-hard cock, head tilting back at the sensation. "So empty. God, fuck, Der, just _empty_."

“I got you,” the Alpha vowed solemnly before shoving the sheets to the now unoccupied side of the bed. There was no slow build up, no teasing his way down, no taking his time; he just immediately moved further down Stiles' body until he was level with his crotch and the hard-on that was threatening to break free of his boxers. He slipped the cotton shorts down and off, tossing them aside and leaving the younger man completely naked on the bed.

Holy shit, Stiles was naked!

His hands automatically flew down to cover himself up, only to be caught mid-air. Derek looked up at him with an eyebrow raised, severe look in his eyes that was questioning the other man's actions and the motives behind him.

Which, considering the huge stench of embarrassment flooding the air and damn near overpowering the arousal, it should've been obvious.

Because Stiles was scrawny and pale and covered in moles and was nothing special to look at. Because Derek was buff and tan and had a flawless complexion with a _beard_ and was therefore sex on legs. The Omega didn't compare, couldn't even _pretend_ like he could compare. And considering the amount of time Stiles had spent in various locker rooms with various other dudes in various states of undress, he knew for a fact that he was just... _plain_.

And that was putting it nicely.

Really, his looks were as awkward as his personality, with an upturned nose that Malia called his piggy nose and the moles that made him look like a fucking cookie and the gangly limbs he never quite figured out how to use properly. And now he was totally naked in front of a guy he was halfway in love with—if not more—and he still had enough of his cognizance left to be self-conscious about his less than stellar appearance.

The irony of actually _wanting_ to be heat delirious...

Derek kept those hard eyes fixed on his face and Stiles damn near exposed his neck because of it. “I can't help you if you cover yourself up, now can I?”

Damn logic.

He shook his head, teeth sinking into his bottom lip at the reminder that he was rolling through another wave of his heat and that his hole would very much like to have something inside it, please and thank you. His hips bucked up, dick seeming to not share the same self-conscious thoughts as his brain, standing up tall and proud.

“Please,” he whimpered out, whiskey eyes pleading, biting his bottom lip again.

“I got you,” Derek repeatedly, placing Stiles' hands on either side of his body before focusing on his crotch.

The Omega had to clutch at the sheet in order to keep his hands where they'd been put, whining through his clenched lips. Precome was leaking out the head of his cock, the street light outside catching it and making it shine. His hole was gaping, trying to pull something in, slick dribbling out and spilling onto the sheets. His entire body was overheated, tingling, buzzing, vibrating, and he felt like he was just gonna pulse out of his skin if he didn't get something inside him _now_.

Derek wrapped a hand around the base of his cock and before the younger man could protest that that wasn't what he wanted, he enveloped the head of it with his lips and sucked. _Hard_.

Stiles' eyes rolled to the back of his head at the sensation, jaw dropping, head tilting back. A groan was wrenched out from somewhere in his chest, body lighting up at the wet warmth that slowly engulfed more of his length.

“Holy shit!” he cried out, his hole getting wetter as a new wave of arousal hit, one not completely caused by his heat, but more due to the man currently sucking him down until the tip hit the back of his throat.

The Alpha bobbed his head up and down a few times, tongue massaging underneath, playing in the slit. His hands cupped the back of the teenager's thighs, moving his legs up until his feet were flat on the bed, knees up in the air. He massaged the muscles as he kept sucking on his cock, moving to his ass and gripping the round globes.

A whimper left the younger man, hips bucking slightly in an aborted thrust. He was so close, _so close_ to having something inside him, but it wasn't happening yet and he felt like he was gonna _explode_ without it.

And not in a good way.

Finally, fucking _finally_ , a finger slid inside, its passage eased by the slick the Omega produced and the fact that his hole stretched on its own. Stiles knew from experience it would open up enough to allow one finger in without any pain or work, but any more than that required more manual stretching. But given how easily Derek had slipped his own digit in and how little resistance there was as it flexed in and out, his entrance was wider than normal, another side effect of his heat.

One of the few benefits really.

It took Stiles a moment to fully grasp the enormity of the whole thing, what a huge moment in his life it was. His first blow job, his first time being fingered by someone other than himself—and he wasn't counting his doc 'cause his phalanges insertions were of a more medical intent than sexual, which thank god really—and it was happening with Derek.

Holy hell!

He licked his lips as he shoved all thoughts aside, determined to enjoy every second and try to firmly plant it in his memory banks while he was still mentally with it and able to appreciate it all.

'Course the appreciation didn't last all that long, his body soon demanding more, his teeth gritting in frustration.

“More,” he whined, fists clenching at the sheets. “Der, more. So empty.”

Derek pulled off his cock with an obscene pop that made him gasp, finger still thrusting in and out. “I know, don't worry,” he soothed him, nuzzling along his inner-thigh, beard scratching at the sensitive skin. “You know I'll take care of you.”

Stiles nodded, teeth biting into his bottom lip again as he fought to hold back any more cries or pleads. A second finger slid inside, the Omega immediately bearing down on it, hole trying to pull it inside. It was the teeniest of stretches at his rim but nothing he couldn't handle, the burn barely anything and easily ignored as he lost himself in the pleasure of it all.

The fingers kept pumping in and out, scissoring on occasion. Derek sucked his cock back into his mouth, Stiles thrusting up again. There were no complaints or demands to stop so he kept it up, moving his hips between the fingers filling him and the mouth enveloping him, Derek continuing his own motions to build up the pleasure.

It was both expected and a total shock when a third finger slid inside, making Stiles gasp, his eyes flying open as his back arched. “Oh my god, Derek!” he cried out, hand slamming against the mattress before tangling in the sheet again. It was more of a stretch than he was used to, the older man's fingers thicker, able to fill him more and force him wider. The burn at his rim was washed out by deadened pain receptors, mind completely zoned in on how good everything felt, all functions pared down to whatever it took to orgasm.

Because it was coming—no pun intended. And fast.

He let out a groan tinged laugh, fingers tingling as his claws lengthened. And when he bit his bottom lip, he tasted the tang of blood, fangs piercing his flesh. He was sure his eyes were glowing, too, but his lids were slammed shut, unable to handle actually looking at Derek between his legs, working him over and up and backwards and frontwards and slantwards and _shit_ , he felt like he was on _fire_.

The fingers inside him twisted around and curved up, rubbing against something that sent shocks throughout Stiles' entire system, body convulsing from the charge. Two more massaging presses against that very same spot and he was coming, yelling out the other man's name as Derek sucked on the head and swallowed everything that spilled out.

Stiles lay back panting, twitching, synapses firing then dying then firing again. Blow jobs were awesome. And as soon as his body rematerialized and became something more than Jello, he was totally returning the favor.

The Alpha pulled off, licking his cock all over and cleaning him. Stiles let out a grumble, swatting at his head, lids halfway down his eyes and lips unable to perform the words “Stop, too sensitive, it hurts”. Derek got the hint though, lifting his head with a smirk, eyes glowing red in the dark, smug sense of self-satisfaction coloring his scent. He moved so he was propped up on an elbow, carefully sliding his fingers out.

Only for Stiles to totally panic and start yelling as he sat up in a flash.

“No!” he objected, grabbing at the older man's wrists and pushing the fingers back in, holding them there. “No, no, no! Need 'em in. In, in, in!”

“All right, relax, Stiles. I'll leave 'em in,” Derek replied calmly, placating the frazzled Omega.

The teenager sighed out in relief and sank back down onto the bed, squeezing his muscles around the fingers just to feel them there and make sure they weren't going anywhere. When he felt satisfied that they were there for good, he fully relaxed, then promptly grabbed at a set of broad shoulders. “Up, up, up,” he demanded, trying to pull the other man closer and on top of him.

Derek chuckled slightly, moving his body up the bed so he was aligned with Stiles'. It took some maneuvering—and another moment of panic when Derek had slid his fingers out and left Stiles empty, only to slip them back inside at a different angle—but they were able to get into a comfortable position: the Alpha on his back, the Omega halfway on top of him, halfway on his own side, hole still filled and an arm wrapped around him.

“You good?”

“Mmhmm,” Stiles replied sleepily, rubbing his head on a smooth chest and letting out a contented noise.

“Good.” A nose pressed to his hair, inhaling deeply once, making the Omega's grin grow. He soon drifted off to sleep, sated from a good orgasm and safe within his Alpha's embrace.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Eight-twenty-seven, twelve-oh-eight, and two-twenty. That was when Stiles had gotten the same treatment, had been blown and fingered by Derek to combat his heat.

Oh, and four-sixteen. Except it wasn't enough to get him there.

It was just like the previous night when Stiles had tried and tried to come but just. Couldn't. Do it. And now it was the same damn thing, a warm mouth sucking at his cock, fingers sliding in and out and playing with his prostate yet his orgasm lingered just on the periphery, just outta reach. And no matter how far he tried to stretch and how far he tried to reach, he just. Couldn't. Do it.

He cried out in frustration, hands slamming against the mattress, hips bucking up in a demand. “Derek, more,” he begged, vaguely aware that he was being incredibly pathetic but even more aware that he didn't give a fuck anymore. “ _Please._ ”

The Alpha pulled off his cock, lifting his head and meeting the younger man's eyes with worry filled green orbs. He gulped, adam's apple bobbing with the action, and Stiles wanted to follow it with his tongue. A lot. Several times.

“Stiles,” he began, calmly, like he was talking to a skittish animal. Which he probably was, given how agitated Stiles' coyote seemed to be, relentlessly scratching and clawing at his insides, howling so loud he wouldn't have been surprised if Derek told him he could hear it. “I've got four fingers in you.”

A broken whine left the Omega as he realized what he was saying: that there just wasn't anything else to put in him, that there was no way he could be stretched anymore, not at that moment anyway. Tears prickled the back of his eyes and he slammed them shut, stubbornly refusing to let them fall. But god was he frustrated and aching and throbbing and on fire and he just needed to come. Soon. _Now_.

“I promised I'd take care of you,” Derek assured him, voice even and calm, a stark contrast to Stiles and how he felt like he was gonna vibrate out his body with need, internally thrashing about in desperation. “Trust me to help you, okay?”

Stiles nodded, lips pressed into a hard line, mentally willing himself to relax. Because it was okay. Derek was a good Alpha, was gonna take care of him, was gonna keep to his word. He was a good man, a good Alpha. Stiles was gonna be okay and he was gonna come and he was gonna be all right because Derek—

Derek was slipping his fingers out as he sat up and moved onto his knees.

“No!” he cried out, jacking up and grabbing hold of his wrist with two clawed hands. “Stay in!”

“Stiles, I need—”

“You need to stay in,” he panted, desperation dripping off every word, eyes wide and pleading. He wrapped a hand around Derek's neck and pulled his head closer, pressed their foreheads together, trembling all over. “I'm so empty. So, so empty. Keep them in, please, please, please.”

“Stiles, I gotta get something to help you, okay?” It was the same skittish-animal tone from earlier and the Omega whimpered, coyote yowling in his head. “But I can't reach it with my left hand. I need my right one to get it. It'll only be a few seconds and you'll be filled again, promise.”

More whimpers, more whines before Stiles threw himself back against the pillows, forearm flung over his eyes. The fingers slipped out of him, leaving him empty, gaping, cold. In a rush of desperation, he shoved four fingers inside himself carelessly, sighing in relief before groaning in frustration because it still wasn't enough. His free hand slid down and started stroking himself, fingers moving in and out of his hole, all in an attempt to at least calm the heat ravaging his mind and body at the moment.

There was a shuffle of movement, squeaking metal on metal wheels rolling, wood meeting wood, mattress creaking as the weight on it shifted forward then back. The Omega paid it no attention, trying to focus on the sensations of what he was doing to himself, hoping that if he concentrated on it hard enough and long enough, he'd bring himself to completion.

Yeah right.

“This okay?”

His eyes popped open, noting Derek kneeling between his still-bent legs. Part of him though it should be weird that the Alpha was still dressed—granted it was in just a pair of black boxer-briefs—while he was naked, but he was more focused on the item in his hands: a flesh-toned dildo with a realistic head and balls, complete with vein running along the underside of it.

“You want me to use this on you?” the older man prompted, eyebrow cocked in question. “This will fill you more. If you want.”

“Yes. Wan' it. Please.” He released his grip on his cock, making grabby hands for the dildo, but Derek held it out of his reach. He groaned and kicked at the Alpha, rubbing at his eyes as his vision blurred with something that totally wasn't tears. “Fuck.”

“Relax, baby,” Derek soothed, kissing the inside of his knee.

Stiles peeked through one eye, watching as a condom was opened then slipped over the dildo. A hand wrapped around his wrist, tugging gently to slip his fingers out of his hole, but he stubbornly held on, fighting to keep them right where they were. He couldn't be empty. It hurt to be empty.

“No.”

“C'mon, Stiles, move your fingers,” Derek coaxed. “I can't fill you if your fingers are in the way.”

Fucking logic again.

He bit his lip with blunt teeth, slowly sliding them out, a prolonged whine leaving him with the action. His eyes flicked up and locked onto green ones, red slowly leaking into them as his slick leaked out his hole. “Please,” he breathed out, spreading his cocked legs more and lifting his ass, putting it on display as much as he could. He could feel it twitching more, grasping at air in an attempt to combat the emptiness, the stretch from four fingers not allowing it to close all the way just yet.

Rubber graze at his rim, slipping up and down his crack, a godawful tease over where it was wanted, _needed_ most. Stiles was about ready to kick the guy again before he spoke.

“Hold yourself open for me like a good little Omega,” Derek rumbled and Stiles could do nothing but breathe and comply.

Reaching down, he grabbed hold of his cheeks and spread them, putting his hole further on display. With a better view of what he was doing, Derek was able to put the dildo where it was needed and slowly slid it inside.

Stiles groaned as the head breached his rim, head lolling back and eyes drifting closed. He felt his inner-walls being stretched, his passage filled in a way it never had before. It was completely different from fingers where you could tell how many and where they were and separate them. This was whole, solid, a thick length pushing into him and making him feel stuffed. In the best possible way.

He breathed out a swear, the tension leaving his muscles, the anxiety gone as the emptiness disappeared. He should've bought one of these years ago, but Parrish busting him outside a sex shop had made him genuinely afraid to ever go near one ever again and there was no way he could order one from the internet with his nosy ass sister and inquisitive dad. But fuck, had he wished he'd figured out a way to get one. Maybe ask Lydia if he could have it delivered to her house. Despite being a Beta, she was pretty damn sympathetic towards the plight of a sex-starved Omega and would help him out. Bribes and indentured servitude would also have gone a long way into gaining her assistance.

Then again, he wasn't entirely sure if any dildo he could've bought would've compared to the one in him at that moment. And he also wasn't entirely sure if it was the dildo itself or the man still gripping the other end of it.

Derek paused when it was fully sheathed inside Stiles, the fake rubber balls pressed along his crack, his body filled to the brim. “You still okay?” he asked, genuinely concerned. His every muscle was tense, like he was ready to spring into action whether or not the Omega wanted more or wanted it to stop.

And there was no fucking way in hell Stiles was ever asking for this to stop.

He licked his lips then swallowed, nodding. His breathing was shaky, entire body trembling as he got used to the invasion, to the feeling of having something inside him like that and for so long. Derek seemed to understand, free hand smoothing up and down the inside of his thigh in a calming manner. “'M good,” he slurred, completely honest.

The Alpha nodded, taking a deep breath before sliding the dildo out until the head caught at his rim. Stiles gasped at the sensation, groaning as it moved back inside of him, filling him up once again. He started a nice rhythm, smooth in and out motions that had the younger man moaning, his hips bucking in synchronization.

The thrusts soon sped up, the dildo's angle shifted so that it was grazing Stiles' prostate with every push in and making him groan louder. His head reared back, claws digging into the sheet, fangs nipping at his own lips.

“Fuck, Der,” he groaned, licking his lips and whimpering. “More. Faster. More.”

His every wish was fulfilled the second it was voiced, the dildo pumping in and out faster, harder, almost pounding into him. The force of it had his body rocking with every push in and he reached up to brace a hand on the headboard, internally wincing at the sound of his claws digging into the wood.

He'd apologize later. He had more important matters to deal with, like the fact that his orgasm was building up again and this time, it actually seemed like it might happen.

Thank. God.

“So close,” he breathed out, mouth hanging slack, peering down at the man between his legs.

Derek's eyes were glowing red, wolfish grin on his face revealing the hint of fangs. The muscles on his shoulder rippled deliciously as his hand pumped the dildo in and out, his own body tensed up, holding himself in place. “C'mon, baby,” he urged, his voice a sexy rumble of a growl. “Come for your Alpha.” He kept his eyes locked onto Stiles' as he dipped his head, gently scraping a fang along the underside of Stile's cock, flicking it along his slit.

Stiles came with a shout, body jackknifing off the bed, white ropes of come painting his chest. Pleasure coursed through every inch of him, making him tremble even more than before, vision damn near whiting out from the force of it all. It was better than any orgasm he'd ever had before and he had trouble remembering anything except swears and Derek's name.

Cliches and all that.

The Alpha lapped up the come from his chest and stomach, licking him clean once again. The younger man had no strength left to comment or demand him to quit or even figure out if he wanted it to stop. All he could do was lay there shaking, smiling stupidly, slowly coming down from his high.

“Want me to leave this in you?” Derek asked, cautiously wiggling the dildo to show what he was referring to.

Stiles just nodded, smearing a hand over his face sleepily, eyes barely able to stay half-open. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “'M full.”

Moving up the bed, Derek laid alongside him, Stiles snuggling up to his Alpha's chest, arms wrapping around him and holding him close. A hand rubbed up and down his back in soothing motions, helping him come back to his body and his mind while lulling him off to sleep.

“Sex is gon' be awesome, huh?” he halfway slurred, proud of himself for being audible. Hell, he was proud of actually remembering how to _think_ , much less speak and have it be understood. He should win awards for that or some shit.

_To Stiles Stilinski for Being Able to Form Thoughts After Mind-Blowing Orgasm Given By Sex God of an Alpha, Derek Hale-McCall and His Incredible Dildo of Awesomeness._

Or something, whatever. The wording wasn't important and he wasn't picky.

A near silent chuckle jostled him a bit and he snuggled closer, arms tucked between their bodies, leg slipping between Derek's two. “I guess,” the older man replied with a half-shrug. “Hard to tell really until you're actually doing it.”

“T'will be,” he argued sleepily, lids losing their fight with gravity and fatigue—not a fair battle really—and slipping down over his eyes. “Know id'll be.”

The hand that had been rubbing his back stilled, cupping his shoulder blade and keeping him close. “Go to sleep, Stiles,” the Alpha gently ordered, voice quiet.

Stiles snuffled a bit, nodding, fidgeting slightly in order to get comfy. He was out soon after, heat temporarily sated due to his orgasm, hole filled and happy, coyote silent. But best of all, he had Derek's heartbeat in his ear and scent in his nose, his Alpha holding him close and keeping him warm and safe.

~*~*~*~*~*~

There was a reason why it was called "heat".

And as Stiles woke up feeling like his entire body had been moved next to a furnace during the night, he knew why. Sweat soaked his skin, his cheeks flushed, skin hot to the touch, and he was pretty sure if someone took his temp, he'd seem like he had a fever of some kind.

But the straining cock and leaking hole told him he wasn't sick—not like he didn't already know that—that it was just his heat kicking up yet another notch. And he still had another level to get to.

Shit.

He rolled onto his back, feeling his slick soaked boxers sticking to his ass. Precome had formed a wet spot at the front, too, more or less ruining the pair and he had the absent thought of being glad he'd packed his oldest pair because he was low on clean ones, despite being embarrassed and self-conscious at the time.

The movement had caused his cock to rub against his boxers and he hissed at the friction, feeling more sensitive than usual. He reached under the sheet, gripped himself through his boxers, and breathed out a swear at the sensation of too much/not enough. His hole was wider than before, gaping, clenching, slick dribbling out steadily. And he was empty, so empty, god he couldn't stand how empty. He needed to be filled and kept filled and knotted and—

And Derek was on his side facing away from Stiles keeping his cock and his knot to himself and that just wasn't nice at all, not when the Omega was aching and hot and _empty_.

"Der," he croaked out, clearing his throat. He released his grip on his dick and slapped at the Alpha's bare back repeatedly, a weak attempt to wake him up. "Der," he tried again, voice stronger before getting even louder. " _Derek_."

The older man groaned, stretching, head rolling on the pillow. "Time'sit?" he slurred, hand smearing over his face with a rasp when that hand should be on Stiles, _in_ Stiles.

"Need. You," he panted out, hips rolling, dick volunteering to be the first place the other man put his hand.

Derek flopped over onto his back, nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply. Stiles knew the exact moment he caught his scent, when his sleepy brain caught up with the situation. His eyes flashed red, a low rumble of a growl made its way out from his chest, and he was suddenly way more alert than he had been.

The sheet was shoved back in a flash, Derek holding himself above the Omega with a hand braced on the bed by his head. "How attached are you to these boxers?" he asked, voice a deep, sexy rumble that had Stiles hips bucking up.

He shook his head, thinking it was answer enough. The Alpha extended his claws and tore the fabric from him, tossing the shreds away carelessly before retracting the sharp nails and slipping a finger inside Stiles, making him groan.

"Tell me what you need," he demanded, finger moving in and out easily, too easily, rim already stretch by his heat and the previous day's activities. The solo digit was doing nothing for Stiles and he slammed a hand on the mattress in frustration.

"You," he panted, desperation making it hard to breathe, arousal making it easy to speak without thinking. "Knot. Please."

A second finger slid inside and Stiles whined about still feeling empty. Derek leaned over him, body gently laying on top but still holding most of his weight up, and the Omega didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around him and nuzzle into his neck, inhaling his Alpha scent.

A third finger soon joined the others in a barely noticed stretch, Stiles rocking his hips in time with their thrusts. His head canted back, fingers scrabbling to get a grip in a well-toned back, moaning wantonly and without shame.

"Der, 'M ready," he stated after the fingers started scissoring him, licking his dry lips. "'M so ready. Need you, need you, need you."

"Shh," the Alpha calmed him, smoothing his sweat soaked hair back from his forehead. "Don't wanna hurt you. Knot's a lot to take so we gotta get you ready."

Stiles whined in frustration even as a fourth finger made its way into him, stretching him further. His mind supplied flashes of conversations about knots with Scott and how it can't be that bad if people keep doing it, Derek showing him his fist when Stiles asked how big it was, porn Stiles had watched for fun and in preparation for his heat. And soon it was gonna happen and he was gonna be knotted and tied to his Alpha and for fuck sakes, why wasn't Derek just _in him_ already?

"Dereek," he whined, slapping at his back. " _Please_."

"I know, I know, I got you," the Alpha soothed, lifting himself up to a sitting position, keeping his fingers all the way inside Stiles' hole.

The younger man bit his lip, watching as the other tried to push down his boxer-briefs with one hand and struggling. Nope, too long. Stiles had needed his cock in him, like, twenty minutes ago. He wasn't waiting any longer.

He unsheathed his claws and tore through them much like Derek had done to his boxers. Two dark eyebrows raised in an impressed look as he tossed away what was once his underwear, moving so he was settled between Stiles' legs.

"In, in, in," he cried out impatiently, hands on the older man's ass, making him hiss as his claws pricked the tender flesh there.

"Relax," Derek instructed, sliding his fingers out and pushing the younger man's legs back.

Moving his hands to the backs of his thighs, Stiles held his legs back and nodded vehemently, licking his lips. "'M ready. So ready. And so empty. Oh god, Derek, I'm so empty." His voice became whinier, higher, more desperate towards the end but he just couldn't care. His mind was gone of all thoughts except getting something inside him, slick still trickling out of his open and exposed hole.

Derek settled over him, one hand lining up his cock before pushing it inside and slowly entering. His eyes flashed red as Stiles gripped him, as his walls tried to pull more of him inside, lips parting and hanging open.

The Omega groaned as he felt himself slowly being filled, hands slipping from his legs. The older man pressed his body closer, hitching his lean legs over wide shoulders to hold them there, hips still pushing forward. The teenager clutched at the sheets, fighting his eyelids as they tried to fall closed in pleasure, determined to watch the other man's face as he was sheathed inside his wet grip.

It felt like forever but the Alpha eventually bottomed out, holding himself in place. Both men were panting, despite not fully engaging in any physical activities, air mingling between their mouths in ragged breaths. Stiles was shaking slightly, overwhelmed by sensations and a million swirling thoughts. Because _fuck_ , did Derek feel incredible inside him, a million times better than that stupid dildo. Derek was warm, pulsing, twitching, his cock slightly longer and hitting all the right places. Stiles could feel his body heat with him laying on top like that, could smell his cinnamon scent with every inhale, noted a sharp spice now with it that made his head spin and his body yield to him even more.

"You okay?" the Alpha asked, voice thick with concern, hand running through the damp hair at the side of Stiles' head.

All he could do was nod and groan "so good", eyes half-lidded with lust, lips parted as they pulled in air and let it out. God, he could even _taste_ Derek's scent that way, the spicy cinnamon with his salty sweat and the musk of sex. And with the ragged breaths and louder than usual heartbeat both playing in his ears, it was like the older man was invading all five senses at once.

Stiles was pretty sure it was Heaven.

Only to be proven wrong when Derek pulled back and started a slow, rolling rhythm of thrusts.

Yeah. _That_ was Heaven.

A long groan was wrenched from his body, head tilting back in pleasure and submission. The Alpha nuzzled at his neck, beard scratching at his skin and making him shiver.

Stiles thread his fingers through sweaty dark locks, holding the older man there, whine-tinged whisper leaving him. "Mark me."

Derek's hips faltered in their rhythm, his head popping up, staring down at the younger man with shocked and incredulous eyes that flickered between green and red, like Christmas lights that were shorting out. "What?" he choked out, seeming in disbelief.

The Omega cupped his face in his hands, meeting his flashing eyes with his own steady gaze. He caught the sight of still extended claws and knew his own orbs must've been glowing gold. "Mark me," he repeated, voice stronger and more sure. "Knot me. Make me yours."

A growl was the Alpha's response before he ducked down and attached his lips to the side of the teenager's neck, sucking hard. Stiles could hear his coyote howling in pleasure, the sound kicked up a notch when Derek's thrusts sped up, knees tucked on either side of his leaner body for better leverage. The human part of him groaned loudly, body completely yielding as he let the werewolf take anything and everything, let him completely own him in the most primal way.

And fuck, was it amazing.

A tongue dragged along his collarbone and up his throat, teeth nipping at his Adam's apple and making his walls clench down hard around the cock steadily thrusting into him. A loud groan hit his ears, one of a more rumbly nature, and he knew it hadn't come from him. He tested out his grip, tightened up his muscles, rippled around the older man's dick and making him choke out against his neck.

"Oh fuck, Stiles." His moan was practically a whine, hand gripping hard at his shoulder where he was cupping it from behind, harsh breaths gusting over sensitive skin.

"Yes, you should totally fuck Stiles. Fuck Stiles all the time. Always be fucking Stiles always." He was rambling and he knew it, filter working less than its usual godawful job, but he made a damn good point because Derek really should just always fuck him. Always.

A chuckle washed over his skin, Derek then shifting into a sitting position, thrusts turning into pounds as he slammed into the younger man. Stiles' noises got louder, claws pricking his own skin as he held his legs against his chest, a cacophony of moans and swears being shoved out of him with each hard push inside. His eyes slammed shut, groan tinged laugh leaving him as he was left with no other option but to lay there and take what he was given.

Totally not a problem considering what he was given was a fast track pass to a super awesome orgasm.

"C'mon, lil Omega," the Alpha coaxed, hand stroking up and down his side. "Your Alpha wants to see you come."

Stiles groaned, teeth sinking into his bottom lip and breaking the skin with their sharp points.

A tug was felt at his rim, a press inside that wasn't there before, and as Derek thrust in, Stiles could feel something different, something bigger near the base.

Derek's knot.

His eyes widened on a gasp, head popping up off the pillow and looking down his body at an attempt to see. But his own cock obstructed his view of the knot itself, frustrating him, although he did have a pretty damn good visual of the Alpha's hips flexing and lower torso pressing in close, his abdominal muscles clenching and shuddering. He looked up past a heaving chest, past a slack jaw, past flushed cheeks, seeing bright red eyes staring back down at him, wide with awe and wonder and pleasure.

"Holy shit," Stiles breathed out, unsure if it was in reaction to the knot tugging at his rim with every thrust out or at the sight of Derek damn near debauched as he pounded into him.

Both maybe? Both sounded good.

"Oh fuck," Derek gasped, moving his bruising grip to Stiles' legs as it got harder and harder for him to pull out. "Taking my knot so good."

The Omega squeezed around the engorged gland as it slipped inside him again, making the other man moan and shudder. "Feels good," he replied breathlessly. "So good. Oh shit, Der!"

"Yeah?" the older man prompted, licking his lips as he stared down at the teenager. "You like taking my knot?"

All he was capable of was a weak "uh huh", body trembling slightly as he was wracked by countless sensations that were all too hard to keep track of.

Soon, the knot had grown too big and with a final press inside, they were tied together. Derek began rolling his hips in circles, a dirty grind that had his knot massaging against Stiles' prostate and making him whimper. His jaw was clenched, muscles tensed, glowing red eyes tight as he struggled to hold something back. If Heat Sex Ed class had been right, then the appearance of his knot meant Derek was close to coming. Yet he was holding back, fighting off his orgasm to make sure Stiles had his first.

And damn if that didn't make the Omega admire him that much more.

"Gonna knot you all day," Derek gritted through clenched teeth. "As much as you want, any time you want."

"Always," Stiles gasped out. "Knot me always."

"Anything you want."

A smile formed on the younger man's face, wiped away by a prolonged moan as the Alpha leaned forward and changed the angle of his grinds. The werewolf pressed them together once again, essentially folding the more lithe man in half, nuzzling at his neck and scraping his beard against already irritated, buzzing skin.

Stiles let out a broken whimper, arms wrapping around him, claws scratching at his back. He felt the drag of a sharp fang along his whisker-agitated skin, making him shiver all over. And when blunt teeth bit into his pulse point, he came with a howl.

A literal howl. Head reared back, lips in an "o" shape, there are no words to convey these feelings so I'm gonna just let out a long noise. Howl.

He felt the Alpha tense up above him and his self-deprecating half thought he'd done something wrong, that his inexperience in the sack had caused him to fuck up somehow and screw things up for Derek in some way. Until he felt a pulsing inside him, his passage getting wetter, filling with something that most definitely wasn't made by him.

Derek's come.

"Oh fuck," he breathed out, his pleasure doubling, his own orgasm drawing out at the feel of it. And Derek had tied them together, his knot acting like a plug that was keeping all that come inside him and a huge part of him was thrilled with it, his coyote howling in his head. Because he'd done that, he'd help make the werewolf orgasm, had brought him to great heights of pleasure and toppled him over, turning him into a trembling, panting, sweating bundle of muscles barely held above him.

"Oh wow."

He felt the Alpha's lips curve into a smirk on his neck, causing one to form on his own face. "Pretty much."

The chuckle made its way out on its own before Stiles' brain even caught on that it was funny. Derek joined in, body shaking with it, before lifting his head and peering down at him with eyes that were a duller shade of red.

"We didn't think this through."

Okay, what? What was there to think about? Stiles was in heat and horny and needed a knot. Derek had a knot and helped fill him with it, thus bringing them both to incredible orgasms. Not much thinking needed to go into that. Most of it was just instincts really.

"This position," the older man clarified at the other's questioning look. "We're gonna be locked like this for twenty minutes. Your legs are gonna cramp and there's no way I can hold myself up for that long."

Well shit. Damn logic again.

"Fuck," Stiles replied eloquently, wiggling his feet where they dangled over the other man's shoulders. His toes were tingling but he wasn't sure if it was aftershocks of his orgasm or the fact that the blood was draining out of them. Another "both" thing he figured.

"Yeah," the Alpha muttered, glancing about before turning back to him. "Hold on tight."

"Wh—?" He didn't even get the whole word out before Derek rolled them over, putting the larger male on his back on the bed. Stiles hissed out at the tug on his rim, wincing as the knot pulled at the tight ring while they got settled.

Derek apologized profusely, rubbing his hands up and down his back, kissing the side of his head repeatedly. "Didn't meant to hurt you."

"'M fine," the coyote commented, yawning immediately after before snuggling into the older man's chest. "S'okay if I sleep?"

"Yeah, rest up," Derek suggested softly, hands still stroking his back.

It didn't take Stiles long to drift off, sated from the greatest orgasm of his life and the knot currently tying him to the man he cared for.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Non-knotting sex is awesome, too,” Stiles commented between pants, earning a laugh that he soon joined in on.

The two of them laid side by side on their backs, bodies covered in sweat and Stiles' come, both breathing hard from previous activities. Basically they'd just had sex again and it was just as awesome as the first time, even without being knotted together.

Derek shoved his hair back from his forehead, sweat making it stand up in its usual style. “You're in heat,” he pointed out, dropping his hand between their bodies. “You think all sex is awesome.”

The Omega scoffed, offended, turning his head so he can stare at the older man incredulously, lips parted. “Not true.”

The werewolf turned his head to him, too, eyebrow cocked. “Yeah?” he asked dubiously. “You got any past experience to compare it with?”

Ouch.

And true.

But ouch.

Stiles just stared at him for a long time, brow drawn into a scowl that wasn't half as intimidating as anything the Alpha could pull off. He wanted to argue, wanted to deny it, wanted to say it wasn't true and that he had _tons_ of experience, but he couldn't. Because he didn't have any. And Derek knew it.

“Shut up.”

The Alpha smirked, chuckling lightly. The teenager slapped his bare chest with the back of his hand, leaving it there out of laziness and a need to be slightly annoying. Fingers wrapped around his, the older man cupping his hand and holding it against his torso, making him smile at the contact. Okay, so he wasn't the most experienced guy out there, his sexual history limited to getting laid twice, but—

Wait.

Wait a fucking second.

He'd gotten laid. _Twice_.

“Oh my god!” he yelled out, arms flailing in excitement, Derek still managing to still hold on to his hand. “Dude!” His head snapped to the other man, finding him staring at him with raised eyebrows, expectation shining in his eyes. “I'm not a virgin anymore!” He grinned widely, happiness rolling off him in waves.

Another small chuckle from the older man, his lips quirked up in an amused smirk. “Congrats.”

“Congrats to you for taking my v-card,” he replied, patting the other man's tummy with his free hand before settling back down with a hugely stupid grin on his face. “I feel like I should actually get a card of some form and cut it into a 'V' shape then sign it and give it to you. For posterity or to make it official or some shit, ya know?”

The Alpha stared at the ceiling, brow creased in confusion, lips twisted to the side. “I honestly can't tell if you're being your usual level of weird or are heat delirious.”

Stiles snorted, offended again. He wasn't weird. He was just awesome in his own unique way and no one else fully understood and/or appreciated it, that was all.

Okay, maybe he was a _little_ weird, but not at that moment. Despite his brain being kinda fuzzy and his mouth filter still not fully functional and his verbal diarrhea worse than usual.

“I am dead serious,” he stated, staring at the man on his left with a grave expression to properly convey the total seriousness of his idea. Which was awesome and not weird. “And I'm sticky. Drying come is not a fun feeling.” He grimaced at he stared down at his torso, poking at the mentioned stain and letting out a “yech”, tongue stuck out in disgust at it.

Derek immediately popped up, releasing his hold on Stiles' hand before leaning over and licking up some of the more dried come off the Omega's stomach. He let out a satisfied “mm”, swallowing it down before lapping up more.

A groan escaped the teenager's open mouth, eyes locked onto the scene before him. His back arched, pushing his stomach up slightly, skin tingling where the Alpha's beard scratched at it. “I honestly can't tell if that's really gross or really hot,” he commented honestly.

And it was true. Because it was a little weird that his bodily fluids were being lapped up like that, that something that had been _ejaculated_ from him was being slurped up like melted ice cream and thoroughly enjoyed. Yet there was something so deliciously perverse about it, hitting a more base part of him that realized that Derek was taking part of him inside his body, just like he'd taken the older man's seed inside him.

Shit.

The older man just smirked as he continued his ministrations, tongue dipping into his belly button and tickling him.

“This a heat thing or a wolf thing or a you thing?” he questioned, genuinely wanting to know. Because if it was a heat or wolf thing, then it could easily just be pushed aside and accepted as such, another sign that Derek wasn't as into him as he was into Derek. But if it was just a personal preference, then it could be taken any number of ways, that maybe he _was_ into Stiles. Or just kinda kinky. Which Stiles could totally work with, no problem at all. Come-eating was apparently a kink he was totally okay with and slightly bummed out that he couldn't also participate in. Not without eating his own ejaculate but whatever.

“Dunno,” the Alpha answered, staring down at the leaner male's stomach, thumb rubbing a delicate hipbone. “Just feels like a 'you taste good and I wanna lick it up' thing.”

Okay, definitely hot and definitely something Stiles could live with. Kind of a compliment really. His come tasted good.

Part of him wanted to tell him that he was more than welcome to eat his come any time he wanted, even suck it out and get it directly from the source, but instead he chuckled out an amused “you're so weird.”

“And you're so outta room to talk,” Derek rebutted before licking up the last of the come on his stomach, sucking off a dried flake and leaving a hickey in his wake.

Stiles felt his stomach clench, first in arousal, then in a “I'm empty and need food” complaining sort of way. Glancing at the alarm clock on Derek's nightstand, he saw it was now eight am. Perfectly acceptable time to eat. And considering the physical activity he'd been participating in, he most definitely needed food.

“Okay, now that you're done eating my come, can I maybe get some breakfast of my own?” he requested, poking at the Alpha's head and smirking.

Derek lifted his head and stared at him with an eyebrow cocked before lowering it once again. “Pop Tarts?”

“Smores,” he decided with a nod before his eyes widened. “Wait! No! Cinnamon brown sugar. No! Both.” He nodded emphatically, serious look in his eyes as he peered down at the Alpha still hovering over his belly.

Derek cocked an eyebrow again before see-sawing his head in an “okay then” manner. He slapped the Omega's thigh before pushing himself up and off the bed, stretching his arms up and grunting. “Be right back then,” he announced before sauntering around the end of the bed and out the room. Because there was no other way to describe the way he moved, with those hips rolling and that ass...

Stiles had no idea where he'd been going with that thought. Because Derek was walking around his apartment nude, completely at ease with himself and having qualms about his guest seeing him naked. Then again, if Stiles had a body like that, he'd move to a nudist colony and always show it off.

Point was, Derek was naked and it was glorious and a beautiful sight as he went to fetch Stiles Pop Tarts after they'd had sex. Awesome. Just... awesome.

“Best Alpha everrr!” he yelled, huge grin on his face, coyote thumping its tail in agreement.

“You're just saying that for my knot and my Pop Tarts!” Derek called back, amusement hiding beneath his words.

“Maybe!” he teased with a smirk, knowing there was more to it than that. Not that he'd ever say any of it. No fucking way. Instead, he was just gonna stretch and enjoy the lull in his heat.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was like Derek had the Kama Sutra memorized. At least the positions that had him on top, which was totally understandable given his Alpha nature and how it made it difficult for him to submit. Totally cool with Stiles though, whose own Omega instincts had him preferring to be the submissive one and enjoy being the bottom. Part of why Alpha/Omega relationships worked so well, really.

They'd already done it twice since their pre-breakfast romp, both times regular sex with zero knot, watching episodes of _Star Wars: The Clone Wars_ in between rounds and naps. And, of course, in the middle of a big lightsaber battle, Stiles' heat kicked in and his arousal skyrocketed and before he knew it, he was sitting on the Alpha's lap, grinding down on him and begging to be filled. He was soon flipped onto his back, then onto his stomach, Derek growling in pleasure as he checked how ready Stiles was for him.

Now he was straddling one of the Omega's legs, driving his cock in deep and rubbing against parts of his passage that had been unintentionally ignored so far that day.

“Oh, fuck, Der,” Stiles groaned loudly, eyes drifting closed. His fingers were tangled in the sheets, free leg tucked up to prevent his throbbing dick from getting squashed, body trembling. His head was turned to the side to prevent himself from being suffocated by his own damn pillow, harsh pants gusted out against the cotton covering. “So fucking good.”

The older man moaned his agreement, a fist on either side of Stiles' torso holding his upper body up as his lower half pounded into him. A pulsing was felt at the base of his dick, a sensation the Omega had come to recognize as his knot trying to expand. Derek had explained earlier how he was able to keep a rein on it during traditional intercourse, but it was harder when his partner was in heat, his body and instincts all telling him to breed the fertile person he was driving into. Stiles scoffed and told him his instincts needed to get a clue about his lack of baby making organs, the Alpha just frowning in response, the topic then being dropped.

But that familiar twitch at the base of his cock and the tense way Derek was holding himself meant he was holding his knot off and Stiles felt an overwhelming urge to tell him not to bother, that he'd meant what he'd said mid-coitus about always being knotted.

Clearly he was gonna have to just give a green light every time. Or have a conversation about it sometime when they weren't engaged in any sorta sex act.

Well, damn. That won't be awkward at _all_.

But for the time being he settled for letting his desires over what he wanted during that particular round known.

Not that he had any other option at the moment, but whatever.

“Knot me,” he breathed out, continuing on at a louder volume, words groaned out. “Der, please. Knot me.”

“You sure?” the other man double-checked through gritted teeth, still holding himself back.

He nodded vehemently, gasping, body writhing. “ _Please_.”

“Anything you want.”

The Alpha relaxed, most of the tension leaving his body. The swelling was felt at the base of his cock almost immediately, knot plumping up and making them both moan.

“Oh fuck!” the Omega cried out, hands sliding further under the pillows, claws digging in at the edges.

The thrusts changed to grinds, Stiles' prostate being massaged by the knot more than ever, the angle of Derek's body to his creating a whole new kind of friction. His vocabulary was reduced to a series of moans and swears as his orgasm hit, come shooting out onto the sheet below him, as his entire body tensed up and shuddered all over. It wasn't long before he felt a pulsing inside him, the Alpha above him growling out his own orgasm.

Once the worst of the aftershocks had wracked them, Derek maneuvered them onto their sides, arm draped over Stiles' torso. He held the older man's hand against his chest, their fingers intertwined, a small smile on his face.

Until he realized...

“'M li'l spoon 'gain.”

The Alpha was smiling against his skin as he nuzzled the back of his neck, nose ruffling the short hairs at the base of his skull. “Mmhmm,” he replied, completely satisfied and proud of himself.

“No fair,” he grumbled, not to pleased with his position and the fact that the other man didn't see the issue with it.

“You like it,” Derek argued, head now laying alongside Stiles', nose still in his hair. “Plus you wanted to be knotted.” As if to prove his point, he flexed his hips, moaning as another mini-orgasm hit him and caused his dick to jerk inside the Omega.

Stiles swatted at his hand, groaning out his displeasure. He knew that for the next twenty minutes Derek would be on the precipice of orgasming, mini ones hitting him throughout the entire time they were knotted, small amounts of come spurting out and his cock pulsing with it. Didn't mean Stiles was in the mood to have his overly sensitive prostate messed with at the moment though. Guy could've at least waited 'til he was asleep before he pulled that shit.

Which wouldn't be long, considering how it was pretty much impossible to open his eyes and he felt himself drifting off.

“Nes' time, I knod you,” he slurred, head shuffling to get comfy, snuffling at his pillow and inhaling the scents of home and Derek and sex.

He was never washing this pillowcase again, he didn't care how gross it was.

“Sure, Stiles,” Derek placated softly, grin audible in his voice.

The Omega nodded, slapping his lips together several times before they remained hanging open, falling asleep totally come-drunk and satisfied with the other man's answer and another awesome orgasm.


	10. Chapter 10

Day four was a complete and total blur.

Which Stiles was completely and totally thankful for.

He woke up needier than he thought possible, cock throbbing so much he thought it'd break off and run away to take care of itself, slick soaking his thighs and sheets, hole wide and gaping and clenching damn near anything. Derek hadn't needed any prodding, waking up almost immediately after Stiles did and automatically rolling on top to slide inside and knot him.

A lot.

That's all Stiles really remembered, blurred flashes of thrusts and groans and pounds and growls. The sight of red eyes and red scratches, the pain of being empty and the relief of being filled, the joy of being knotted and tied to his Alpha, the scent of him filling his lungs and helping him breathe.

There were no details, not that he wanted any of them. What he remembered was bad enough. He didn't need to know exactly how wanton and needy and desperate he was acting.

But he had the knowledge of Derek taking care of him and giving him everything he needed and that was enough to last him for a lifetime.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was pretty damn annoying being woken up by your arousal. It was even worse to know that by day five, Stiles was used to it.

He didn't hesitate to roll over and press his body along the side of Derek's, the werewolf still asleep on his back. He writhed against him, hard cock rubbing against his thigh, smearing precome all over his skin.

"Dereeek," he whined, nuzzling his nose into the guy's neck and scratching at his torso with blunt nails.

The Alpha slowly woke up with a groan, still half-asleep when he looked down at the younger man. Dark circles now lay under his eyes, hair a ruffled mess, beard untrimmed and untidied. He looked rough, like he hadn't gotten much sleep over the past few days but had still been busy putting his body through a lot of physical motions.

Which really, he had been.

A wave of guilt washed over Stiles at the knowledge that he'd done that to Derek, that he was responsible for his sleepy, messy state, that he had it worse because he'd been the one pounding and thrusting and knotting, while Stiles just had to lay there and take it. Hell, the Omega could fall asleep while being knotted, get a few extra minutes of shut eye that way. He wasn't entirely sure if the same went for the older man, considering the mini-orgasms and tremors that wracked his body while knotting someone.

The thought of Derek's knot had his arousal kicking guilt in the face and shoving it aside, reminding Stiles that it was the most important thing at that moment. He mentally apologized to the Alpha and promised himself to get him a nice gift, maybe take him out to dinner or something.

His hips rolled against the other man's side, grinding into him, a fresh spurt of slick leaking out his gaping hole. Thanks to his arousal and the number of times he'd been fucked over the past couple days, it was still open, unable to fully close. Convenient, but also weird as hell, especially considering the lack of sheet covering them—no point since Stiles still felt like he was running at about five hundred degrees, a nice change from the thousand he was at yesterday, and they were just gonna have sex again anyway so the sheet would keep constantly getting in the way—and the cool air hitting his insides.

Weird as hell.

Derek liked his lips, lids halfway down his eyes in fatigue. But despite his mental tiredness, his body was fully awake, instincts picking up on the Omega's fake fertile scent and driving him with the overpowering need to mate and breed, causing his body to get ready for it, even if he wasn't entirely awake or ready for it.

"Again?" he croaked out, voice rough from sex and sleep and not enough sleep.

Stiles felt his guilt come creeping back, a background emotion to the arousal currently running the show and controlling his every move. He nodded, looked up at the older man with apologetic eyes, hips still moving as he pleaded. "Please."

Derek nodded before hooking his arms under his armpits and hauling the younger man on top of him. If nothing else, Stiles had discovered a kink for being manhandled and hoped his next partner and his future mate was as strong as the werewolf he was straddling.

The thought that Derek soon wasn't gonna be his anymore made his heart clench in his tight, but the hurt was easily hidden by his overwhelming need to be filled.

"C'mon, li'l Omega," Derek urged, hands sliding up his thighs and cupping his ass. "Ride your Alpha."

The words brought a smile to the younger man's face, allowing him to shove aside any sadness about how their time was running out. Rising up to his knees, he held Derek's dick by the base, thumb rubbing the gland where his knot would form as he lined it up with his hole. The Alpha spread his cheeks and held them open as he slowly sank down, being filled by the other man's cock and making them both groan.

Stiles didn't wait, didn't need to adjust anymore, just rose back up until he felt the head tug at his stretched rim then sank back down. He repeated the actions, movements shaky from out of control hormones and inexperience, his lack of knowledge making him slightly unsure of his motions.

Large hands held his hips, helping guide him and making his movements more steady, more sure. The Alpha's lips parted, harsh gasps leaving him as he stared up in wonder with green eyes that were flickering red.

"So good, Stiles," he praised, fingers flexing their grip.

The teenager whimpered in pleasure, biting at his bottom lip, grabbing at a muscular forearm. "Knot me," he requested in a thready voice, wide eyes begging. He didn't feel _as_ desperate as he had over the past couple days, but still had a clawing desire to be knotted, still felt an overwhelming need to be tied to the man below him.

"I will, baby," Derek promised. "Get me there."

Stiles nodded, determined, speeding up his motions and slamming himself down on the other man's cock. High pitched whines were forced through his gaping mouth every time he was filled, his head tilting back in pleasure and he found himself desperately wanting the other man to mark him up with bites and hickeys and beard burn the way he had every other time they fucked.

"There you go," Derek praised with a smirk before breathing out a swear. "You're doing so good, baby."

"Feels good," the Omega gasped out, tilting his head down to see the older man's eyes locked onto where he was entering him. He found himself wanting to watch, too, wanting to see Derek repeatedly filling him, stretching him wide over his cock and knot, but settled for just feeling it.

Not that that was a bad thing, given how incredible it was and how he felt himself getting closer to coming. God, sex was awesome. Why didn't people have sex all the time? He totally would if Derek was the one fucking him.

"Wanna be fucked by you forever."

The Alpha smirked wider, face soon contorting at one particularly brutal slam down. "Shit, I wanna fuck you forever," he admitted in a rush, hands grabbing at the younger man's ass.

Stiles grinned widely, leaning forward and bracing his hands on flat pecs, shifting the angle at which he was being entered. Derek's cock now grazed against his prostate with every thrust and he was vaguely aware of his claws extending, standing out against the Alpha's chest.

The older man titled his head back on a groan and the teenager didn't hesitate to lean further forward and sink his teeth into the newly presented flesh. Derek growled deep in his chest, the sound more pleasure-filled than angry or intimidating, and the Omega took it as a sign to nip where he could, biting at his neck, throat, and collarbone. He felt the other man's knot start to expand, stretching his rim, growing faster than usual at Stiles' ministrations until he could no longer move up and down his length.

Sitting up, he started moving his hips in grinding circles, aided by the Alpha's hands on his hips, eyes locked onto glowing red orbs.

"Getting close," Derek practically whimpered, muscles tensing up as he held his orgasm off. "You gonna come soon, babe?"

Stiles nodded, his own body tightening up, base of his spine tingling as his orgasm drew near. He shifted slightly so the knot was right up against his prostate, making him cry out in pleasure as the swollen gland massaged the bundle of nerves. "Oh fuck, almost," he panted, head falling back and eyes drifting closed. "Almost."

Hands rubbed up and down his thighs before claws lightly scratched at the sensitive skin, the right amount of pain to still be pleasurable. "C'mon," Derek urged, tone a gentle command through gritted teeth. "Mark your Alpha."

The words and the rumbling growl that followed did their job, Stiles' orgasm hitting him in a rush. Pleasure radiated all over, his eyes bursting open as he yelled out the other man's name, head tilting down to see thick ropes of come spurting out his cock and painting the Alpha's chest. Derek moaned in pleasure, his grip tightening on the younger man's thighs as he spilled inside him, dick pulsing.

"Ah shit," the older man groaned, face contorting in pleasure, eyes screwed shut while his body trembled. His face was flush, skin shiny with sweat, long lashes clumped together as they fanned over his cheekbones, hair messy and sticking to his forehead. And Stiles had never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

Derek moved so he was sitting up, slumped back against the pillows and headboard, arms wrapping around the younger man. Stiles pretty much collapsed on him, hands on his shoulder blades, head on his shoulder, only then realizing his own body was shivering.

A low whimper hit his ear, the Alpha shuddering as another minor orgasm hit him, whiskered cheek rubbing against whatever skin it could reach. Stiles kissed at his shoulder, then at a bite mark on his neck, causing another tremor to race through Derek, more come filling his hole and making him feel wetter than ever.

It was as though Derek's orgasm and the subsequent mini-ones while knotting were more powerful than the others and Stiles found himself struggling to figure out why. Only to realize that he'd been on top. As far as he knew, Derek had been on top of him for every round of sex they'd engaged in throughout his heat, Alpha nature making him more dominant and preferring to hold his partner down. Yet Derek had submitted to Stiles, had let the Omega take charge, control the tempo, let him bite and mark him. He wondered if the older man had ever let his other heat partners do that, remembering how Scott had told him that Derek ended things with his previous two girlfriends right after his heat had ended. He further remembered Derek's insistences that Stiles enjoy his heat and not do something he wasn't comfortable with, leading the Omega to believe he was speaking from some sorta personal experience. Stiles wondered if it was due to the same submitting thing, if he realized he hated it and regretted it and didn't wanna be with someone who was into that.

And damn if he didn't want the answers to that.

"Hey Der?" he prompted cautiously, getting a sleepy "mm?" in response. He hesitated, biting his bottom lip, not wanting to disturb the happy post-coitus bubble they were in and the enjoyable peace at being knotted. But being knotted meant they were tied together and Derek wouldn't be able to run away from the question. And if studies were true, then Alphas were even more agreeable post-orgasm and mid-knotting and unable to lie, their defenses weakened in the peace they felt while having their knot held tightly.

With a mental "fuck it", Stiles plowed ahead and asked anyway, figuring he had nothing to lose. "What did your previous heat partners do that you hated?"

The change in the larger man's body was immediately. He inhaled sharply, hands freezing where they'd been rubbing up and down Stiles' back, every muscle tensing up. The Omega lifted his head, seeing the other man's eyes shut tight, nostrils flaring as he breathed hard, trying to keep control of himself and his wolf, knowing he couldn't let go while they were tied together or else the teenager might get hurt.

Shit. Clearly didn't think of that.

Because it was a total possibility. As reluctant as he was to admit it, wolves were stronger than coyotes, and Alphas were stronger than Omegas, meaning Stiles lost in both categories and was at total risk of being harmed by the older man. Not that he thought Derek would do it, not after living with Rafael McCall and his abusive ways for several years. But accidents happened, especially when one's animal took over. They didn't care about who was who or what relation they were, only focusing on releasing their anger and asserting dominance in the only way they knew how: through violence.

Like Rafael McCall.

And if whatever Kate or Jennifer had done to Derek was that bad, then chances were he was angry about it, or at least pissed that Stiles had brought them up when he'd wanted to forget about them. And his wolf might feel the need to take over and show the nosy little coyote shit what happened they shoved their snouts in someone else's personal life.

Oh fuck.

"Sorry," he quickly apologized, hands gently laying on the Alpha's shoulders, mind wondering if he should move them, if the touch was welcomed. "You don't have to answer. My filter's working less than usual." He put a small smile on his face, hating how shaky it was and how his heart was racing.

At least his scent wasn't giving anything away. Other than "just had sex with Derek Hale-McCall".

"It's okay," the Alpha replied softly, quietly, eyes opening to reveal green orbs. "I wanna tell you."

Stiles hid his joy at those words, thinking it was more than a little inappropriate to be excited over a guy agreeing to share personal information with him. But he couldn't help it. He wanted to know everything there was to know about Derek, especially the private stuff that he didn't share with anyone else. Probably a little messed up but that's how it was. He already felt like they were kindred spirits of sorts, both knowing what it was like to lose a parent and the hardships that follow, especially when that parent was the same orientation as you. He wanted to find out if they had more in common, part of him wanting to use it as proof that they were meant for more than just that week.

But instead of voicing any of that or giving away hints of it with his scent, he simply settled into a comfortable position—as much as he could, given the knot still holding him on Derek's cock—and fell silent, expression grave to show he was serious and knew this was a heavy topic and was behaving in an appropriate way.

He could totally do calm and mature. It was just a little harder for him than it was for most folks, that's all.

"Jennifer wanted to start a family," Derek began, tone flat but muscles tense. Stiles rubbed at his shoulders and felt some of the tension slip out, the action seeming to help in some way. "She played on my breeding instinct and being so out of my mind with heat, and she got me to agree to impregnate her."

The Omega's brow furrowed, his own muscles tightening a minute amount, not happy with some other person trying to start a family with his Alpha.

Not that Derek actually _was_ his, or had been back then. It was just for the week and he knew that. His coyote, on the other hand, didn't quite see it that way and was agitated, hackles slightly raised as it grumbled lowly.

"Don't get me wrong," Derek added. "I want pups, just sometime in the future when I'm Mated and settled and in the right place."

The teenager nodded in understanding, that being his plan, too. He was planning on attending Stanford in the fall, getting his degree, then worrying about getting Mated after that. Kids weren't in the five-year plan—although they were a loose possibility in his ten-year one—and he was glad his heat had been spent with a guy so he wouldn't have to worry about any unexpected pregnancies.

He mentally shuddered at that, feeling like an ass but really, he was eighteen. Pups were not a thing he wanted anytime soon.

"Luckily I was able to talk her into that Plan-B pill, ya know?" Derek continued before seesawing his head. "Well, my mom helped a lot with that, but point was she took it."

"You're a lot more calm and mature about it than I'd be," Stiles commented in awe, corner of his lips tugging up in a small smile. "She was essentially taking away your future and your happiness and your chance to find your mate."

The Alpha shrugged like it wasn't a big deal and Stiles only just managed to hold back a "bullshit". Because werewolves—most of 'em at least—had a deep, profound sense of honor and loyalty. Had Jennifer gotten her way and gotten knocked up with Derek's pup, then he would've done the right thing and Mated her to help raise the child together. It wouldn't have mattered that he didn't love her enough to spend the rest of his life with her, wouldn't have mattered that they weren't True Mates. Because that was his pup and he was gonna be there for it no matter what. It was just like when Rafael had finally been kicked out and Derek stepped in as Male Authority Figure and Role Model for Scott, because he felt like it was the right thing to do as his big bro. Being an actual biological father to a kid would make that need to guide them even stronger, especially with his Alpha and werewolf instincts telling him to protect and provide for what was his.

Had Stiles been in Derek's shoes, he'd be a million times more pissed than how the older man was acting, especially with an Alpha's more aggressive and easily angered nature.

"Yeah," Derek agreed on a sigh of sorts, seeming like he was dismissing the whole thing like it was a stain he'd gotten on an already ripped old shirt that he was planning on tossing anyway. "But like I said, I talked her out of it, made her realize how wrong it was and that I wasn't the right man to father her pups. Besides," he paused to shrug again, entire demeanor changing with his quieter, more reluctant tone. "Wasn't as bad as what Kate did before her."

Stiles felt his hackles rise, his coyote growling loud in his head at the mention of the female he'd never quite liked. He had no idea what exactly she had done but it couldn't be anything good. Because Derek had gone tense all over, his scent laced with disgust and shame and anger and humiliation, his head ducked down as though he couldn't look at the younger man anymore.

The Omega kept his claws sheathed, kept his own scent even and content, trying not to let his emotions get to be too much and his coyote feel the need to take over. He wanted to be calm, to be a soothing presence for the older man to be comforted by and feel safe with. He didn't want to make it seem like he couldn't handle anything he was about to be told or have his emotions be misinterpreted and believed to be aimed at Derek, causing the wolf to retreat and regret saying anything, or feel worse about what had happened in the past.

"What'd she do?" he asked quietly, voice thready and a little shaky, yet still even and strong enough to show the older man that it was okay for him to share whatever he was about to say.

Derek swallowed hard, keeping his head ducked down, hands on Stiles' hips and thumbs rubbing circles on the bones. "She, uh," he began, voice shaking before he cleared his throat. "She did some, uh, some sexual stuff," he confessed before lifting his head. His lips were tight, eyes turned down at the corners, and he looked complete vulnerable and a little scared. "It was way out there kinky shit that I normally wouldn't do: humiliation, S&M, forced submission. And she filmed it all."

"Jesus," Stiles breathed out, his stomach churning. Alphas weren't made to submit. Ever. That's why Derek letting Stiles ride him and mark him was such a major thing, because they just didn't do it. Maybe for their mates as a sign of trust and respect, but never for someone they were just dating—or servicing during their heat. Kate forcing Derek to do that was sickening and perverted—in the wrong way—and he wanted nothing more than to sink his claws into her jugular and rip out her throat.

But since he couldn't do that at that moment—what with the knotting and the heat and the overall reluctance to leave Derek—he settled for scratching the back of the older man's head, trying to bring comfort by appealing to his animal.

"She liked having video evidence of a pathetic, vulnerable Alpha, considered selling it," Derek went on, fingers tightening their grip on the leaner man's hips before gentling once more. "Luckily your dad was able to get every copy of it and I had fun that night with my friends smashing all but one that he kept in the evidence lock-up."

Stiles' brow furrowed in confusion, having never heard of his dad trying to help Derek in any sort of legal matter. And it wasn't like it had just slipped the Omega's mind and he couldn't remember it or anything like that, because info like that would forever be burned into his head.

Out of all the cases his dad worked that he didn't snoop in...

"How'd my dad get it back?" he questioned, curiosity taking over, his mom's voice cooing that he was her little detective replaying in the back of his mind.

"A new California statute that had just gone into effect a month or so before," Derek explained in that flat tone that betrayed no feelings about it either way. "Heat rape."

The teenager see-sawed his head, thinking the term made sense. "Sucks like hell that such a thing exists and is needed, but I'm glad it came in handy for you."

"Same here," the Alpha muttered.

The younger man snorted and shoved at the werewolf's head. "Obviously," he scoffed with an eye roll, getting a chuckle in response. A smile formed on his own face, glad the mood had been lightened, before he sobered up once more. "Thanks for telling me all that."

The Alpha nodded, swallowing hard. He looked up at the younger man with down turned eyes, that earlier vulnerability back in them. "Just don't tell Scott," he requested weakly, shakily. "There's just some shit a big bro doesn't want his li'l bro to know about him."

Stiles scratched at the back of the older man's head, reassuring smile on his face. "Of course, man," he promised, thinking it wasn't that hard. He could partially understand not wanting someone to know a certain thing about you, that fear that it'd make them see you in a different light, a bad light. And Derek having stepped in as that male role model figure for Scott, he wouldn't want his brother to think he was weak or less of an Alpha.

Not that Scott would, or that what'd happened to Derek made him weak. But Stiles got the impression that there was no telling him that, no convincing him otherwise. It was easier to just go along with Derek's wishes. Plus it wasn't really his story to tell. He needed to keep his mouth shut on it.

The corner of the Alpha's lips quirked up in a weak version of a grateful smile. Stiles fought the urge to kiss his lips and make that grin something more real, more genuine. Instead, he snuggled closer, hands cradling the back of the older man's head as he rested his chin on a broad shoulder. He felt arms wrap around him tighter, holding him close, holding him as though he was a security blanket or something that could take away all the bad.

Stiles found himself desperately wishing that he could.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Post-sex cuddles were quickly becoming one of Stiles' very most favorite things to do. Besides sex itself because, ya know, _orgasms_. But seriously, cuddles were awesome. Knotting cuddles were the best, but post-regular-sex cuddles were great, too, when Derek hauled Stiles in and held him close, their legs tangled, arms around one another, his head on a muscular chest. Totally the best.

He sighed happily, breathing in the Alpha's scent, lungs filling with cinnamon sweetness of it and bringing him a sense of calm. His mind went to his own boring scent, the lackluster _vanilla_ his aroma was comprised of, hating it once more. It wasn't as complex as Derek's cinnamon, didn't carry various notes or layers like his did.

Boring.

His mom had called it sweet, sugary. Malia called it basic and plain. His dad said it was a fine scent for an Omega to have and to not worry about it so much. Everyone always told him it was "nice" and "okay" and that there was nothing wrong with it. But he wanted more than that, wanted his scent to be incredible and mouth-watering and the best thing anyone has ever smelled. He wanted someone to react over his scent the way Scott did with Allison's chocolaty one, to have someone practically drool as they waxed poetic and used fancy words and—

Okay, nothing like that. But he'd definitely like someone to react the Scott did to Allison's scent or Malia to Kira's, have them automatically bury their nose in his neck or hair or whatever, to just wanna breathe him in forever, to wanna be covered by his scent and him covered by theirs and just...

Yeah. He didn't want a boring scent. He wanted someone to be enamored and totally enraptured with it.

He remembered his first night at the apartment, how Derek had said he smelled good and slapped a hand over his mouth when he tried to argue. Maybe the Alpha smelled something more than plain old boring vanilla on him?

"Der?" he prompted, waiting until he felt the older man's head tilt down to him. "What do I smell like?"

Confusion colored his scent, his hand slowing where his fingertips had been lighting grazing up and down his spine. "Huh?"

"Me," Stiles clarified, shifting so his chin was on the more muscular one's chest, allowing him to look him in the eye better. "What do I smell like?"

An eyebrow raised at the question before a smirk formed on the Alpha's face. "You don't want me to answer that right now," he commented lightheartedly.

"Oh ha ha," Stiles replied sarcastically, smacking the other man's chest as he chuckled. " _Normally_ what do I smell like?"

Derek drew his brow in curiosity, lifting his head and burying his nose in Stiles' hair. The younger man wanted to object, to comment in how gross that was because his hair was all sweaty and he honestly had no clue when the last time he showered had been, only to realize they were both completely covered in sweat—some fresh and some dried—and other bodily fluids so really, sniffing his hair wasn't any less disgusting than the two of them cuddling with come sticking them together. Plus it would be pretty counterproductive, telling the older man not to sniff him when he asked what he smelled like.

A sleepy, satisfied growl rumbled up from the Alpha's chest as he inhaled deeply, fingers gripping at the teenager's back. "Vanilla icing."

Typical. Exactly what Stiles had predicted: plain ol' boring vani—

Wait.

Just...wait.

His head raised off Derek's chest, eyebrow cocked in a weak imitation of the other man's signature move. "Vanilla _icing_?" he double-checked dubiously. No one had ever mentioned the icing part before, just the vanilla. And since he'd gone eighteen years without that adjective being attached to his scent, he was finding it a little hard to believe that that was how he smelled. Like vanilla _icing_.

"Yeah," the Alpha answered nonplussed, fingers lightly grazing up and down the younger man's spine again. "It's vanilla, but with this sugary note underneath it, like icing."

"Vanilla icing?" Stiles repeated, hoping if he said it enough, he'd believe it and it'd be real for him.

"Mmmm.” Lifting his head, he buried his nose in the Omega's hair again, the teen ducking his head and laying his forehead on his chest to give him easier access to inhale his scent repeatedly. "Like on cupcakes," he murmured, words getting lost in sweaty tawny strands. "Or those cookies my abuela makes sometimes. Or on, uh." He paused, suddenly freezing, breathing stopped and fingertips no longer tracing along his spine.

Stiles' eyes widened from where they had drifted shut, hope flaring up in his chest. His coyote's head perked up, tail thumping slightly in its own brand of optimism, and the human-half felt like doing the same.

If he even had a tail anyway.

But instead, he swallowed hard and spoke with a voice that was surprisingly strong and free of tremors. "Like a cinnamon roll?" he finished for the other man, not entirely sure how okay he was with how hopeful he sounded.

Because if he was right and if the Alpha agreed, it meant that they two of them had compatible scents, scents that blended together to create a beautiful fusion, proof that they were mates. And it meant that Derek was thinking along the same lines and knew they were meant to be.

Only that wasn't what happened.

Of course. 

Derek laid his head back on his pillow, eyes distant, tone flat as he spoke. "Sometimes. Most of the time it's cream cheese though."

And there went Stiles' hopes and dreams, smashed to pieces as easily as a piñata. Like the one still hanging in the corner of the older man's room.

He distracted himself by inhaling the Alpha's scent, calming himself on the cinnamon-tinged aroma, laced with its own sugary undertones and sweet notes.

Like a cinnamon roll.

Dammit! Now he had a craving.

"Got any cinnamon rolls?" he asked, jerking his head up, mood completely shifted at the prospect of baked goods. He tried to limit the amount of that stuff that entered the Stilinski house due to his dad, but he wasn't home and he was on his heat and dammit, he was taking advantage.

"No."

Or maybe not.

"Oh." His mouth remained in that shape as his face fell, only to shift back as he made a decision. "We should totally get cinnamon rolls though. When my heat's all over, we are totally hitting up a Cinnabon and getting ones as big as our heads. Just screw your diet, okay? Cinnabon and cinnamon rolls."

Derek chuckled, amusement lighting his eyes and making them sparkle. "Whatever you want, Stiles."

"Damn straight," the Omega murmured, laying his head back down on the older man's chest. "And I wanna watch more _Star Wars_."

A smile formed on the werewolf's face as he grabbed the remote off the nightstand and flipped the TV on, readying the next episode of _The Clone Wars_. Stiles shuffled into a more comfortable position that allowed him to see the screen yet still use Derek as pillow, inhaling the Alpha's scent with every breath. He noticed a slight vanilla—no, vanilla _icing_ note hidden within the cinnamon aroma, increasing his craving for a cinnamon roll and calming his coyote. If he pretended their scents mingled well and they were snuggled up because they were mates, then that was his business.

And a really horrible, idiotic idea.

Which he just happened to have a terrible habit of thinking up and going along with. Awesome.


	11. Chapter 11

Peace was a relative thing during heat, a minor concept Stiles only partially felt while being knotted, his coyote calmed by the knowledge that its Alpha wasn't going anywhere, his Omega instincts happy that he was being bred and that his partner's seed wasn't going anywhere.

Not that he actually _could_ be bred, but there was no telling his instincts that.

Point remained that the few moments of clarity and calm that he felt over the week came when he had Derek's knot lodged inside him, the older man holding him close as he trembled with aftershocks and mini-orgasms that had him gasping against the back of Stiles' neck and spurting in him more. The teenager had the absent thought of where all that ejaculate went when the other man was finally able to slip out, only to decide it didn't matter. He was sated, happy, calm, at peace, and he was gonna enjoy every second of it until his body keyed itself up and demanded another round again.

Although...

He didn't feel quite like he did post-sex. Okay, yeah, he was happy and satisfied and calmed and his coyote was relaxed and taking it easy, but...

But his skin didn't feel quite as hot, his insides no longer simmering the way they did mid-knotting, only for the fire to heat up and make him desperate gain. Even after just coming he'd still feel the buzzing inside to orgasm again, to be filled once more. But he didn't that time. He just felt... Completely satisfied.

Holy shit. His heat had finally broken. He was done, it was over. No more being awoken by his arousal, no more desperate rutting, no more wanton pleas, no more shameless begs to be filled and fucked and knotted, no more sex—

No more sex.

No more sex _with Derek_.

Ever.

Because with his heat having broken he was out of excuses for them to sleep together. The Alpha had agreed to service him and had implied several times over the week that it's all that'll be, helping Stiles with his heat so no one takes advantage of him the way they had Derek.

Shit.

Fuck.

Shit again because seriously. That _sucked_.

His good mood disappeared as he realized that his heat being over also meant he'd have to go home soon. He'd be leaving the little bubble they'd created over the week, their own little world where Stiles could pretend he meant more to Derek than just his little brother's best friend and therefore someone he needed to watch over until he found a mate. He was gonna go home to his own room and his own bed and have to sleep by himself with no snuggles or spooning or anything. He was gonna have to watch _Star Wars_ by himself and fight for control of the remote and make his own—and his family's—meals. He was gonna be alone, no Derek, no Alpha, no mate. Just plain old Stiles and his unappealing vanilla scent.

His coyote let out a whimper and the human part of him wanted to do the same. Instead, he pressed his lips together to hold back tears, masking his scent with contentment and happiness at a recent orgasm and being knotted.

A nose nuzzled at the back of his neck, ran along his hairline, warm breath ghosting over his skin and making him shiver. "I can feel you thinking," Derek rumbled in a voice roughened by sex and sleepiness.

Stiles swallowed hard, looking down at the other man's hand as he gently held it in his grasp, their fingers entwined. He wasn't gonna have this in a couple days, a thought that made his chest feel like it was breaking and the shards of his ribs stabbing at his heart. But he couldn't say any of that, couldn't voice his sadness over leaving and how desperately he wanted to be with Derek beyond his heat. The older man didn't want him the same way and it would just make things awkward, especially since the next stage in his heat was another round of being super clingy. Snuggling up to a guy who'd just rejected you wasn't an appealing concept on any level, but it wasn't like Stiles would have a choice in that situation. Really his best bet was to just keep his mouth shut about all of it and lie.

"Just looking forward to a shower," he murmured roughly, taking advantage of being a coyote and being able to be dishonest in a convincing way.

A chuckle rumbled against his bare back, slightly jostling him. "You feelin' up to it?"

"No," he snorted, glad he was at least being honest about that. "But I need one."

"Want me to help you?"

He nodded, deciding to fully take advantage of any and all of Derek's help for the next couple days. Yeah, he was gonna take every opportunity given to him to have the guy touch him, hold him, show him any sign of affection, even if it was only in a platonic manner on his end. He was gonna enjoy his last moments of being able to pretend, of acting like the Alpha was his and that he was Derek's and that they were together and happy and in love.

He was gonna totally regret it all on Sunday when he went home—admittedly already regretted the whole thing a tiny bit at that moment—but he didn't care. He'd deal with the consequences when they came.

He snuggled further into the older man, played with his fingers, took solace in the peace he was finding. He focused on the rise and fall of Derek's chest against his back, on the trembles that still raced through him, at the pulsing he would feel every now and then in his passage and how they were getting weaker. He listened to their breathing patterns, their heart beats, the nuzzle of a nose snuffling over his neck and hair. He memorized the feel of Derek's leg between his, his muscular frame pressed against his leaner one, the shape of his hands and fingers, the curve of his cock. He glued it all inside his brain, never to leave, determined to keep it all so that on his loneliest nights and his darkest times, he could look back and remember that he at least had this, even if it wasn't real.

All too soon, Derek's knot deflated to the point where he could easily slip it out without hurting either one of them. Stiles felt a warm trickling along his crack, down one cheek, his mind supplying the knowledge that it was the Alpha's come spilling out. He felt a momentary sense of panic at the realization that it was leaking out of him, calming himself with the knowledge that he'd been filled countless times over the past few days so he shouldn't worry over not being—

No. He was a guy, goddammit. His Omega hormones could shut the fuck up about that whole being bred thing. Really the only issue with the ejaculate leaking out his still stretched hole was that it was creating a bigger mess on him and making him feel even grosser.

That shower sounded better and better with each second.

A hand pressed between his shoulder blades, gently pushing, and he allowed his still kinda boneless body to be rolled onto his stomach. He hitched a leg up as he got comfy, cradling his pillow on his folded arms and nuzzling his face into it, ready for a nap.

Only to feel his cheeks being cupped and spread apart.

He let out a weak groan in protest, trying to pull away, but the older man's grip was too strong. Cold air hit his stretched rim, his inner-walls, making him shiver, the trickle of Derek's come now sliding down his crack onto his balls.

Stiles felt a finger slip inside and he groaned louder, reaching down and swatting at the other man's arm. "No," he complained, turning his head so his voice wasn't muffled by the pillow. "No more. My heat's over, leave my poor ass alone."

He hadn't meant to let that bit of info slip out but it was too late. Whatever. Derek barely seemed to react, simply moving his free hand so his fingers were holding him open.

"I gotta make sure you're okay and that there aren't any tears inside you," he explained in his flat voice that Stiles totally hated and he wanted to punch the guy just to get some emotion out of him.

The finger pressed further inside and Stiles tensed up, hole trying to close and fight off the unwelcomed invader. He understood the point of it, that it was a necessary evil, especially after being repeatedly knotted and his pain receptors practically non-existent during his heat. After all, that's why he wanted a heat partner in the first place, to make sure he was okay and uninjured and wouldn't bleed to death from a tear inside himself that he wasn't aware existed. Didn't mean he had to like it though.

He buried his face in his pillow, the finger moving around, feeling along his walls. It was more methodical than sexual, reminding Stiles of similar medical exams he'd endure on a yearly basis, his doc needed to check his inner-glands for infection or growths, make sure all his parts were in working order. Derek acted with the same sure movements as his physician, the same behavior as someone who'd practiced it a lot.

Slightly raising his head, he clutched at the bottom of his pillowcase as he spoke. "I take it this isn't the first time you've done this."

"I checked you after every time I knotted you."

What the—?

His brow furrowed in confusion. "Where the hell was I during this?" he demanded, offense raising his voice.

"Sleeping or heat delirious," Derek stated matter-of-factly, still feeling along the Omega's walls in careful motions.

Well that seemed rude, almost somnophiliac really, taking advantage of and feeling up a guy when he was out cold or just out of his mind.

"I feel violated."

A gust of laughter blew over one of his cheeks. "After everything you've been through over the past few days, _that's_ what you feel violated over? Me checking you for tears?"

Stiles laid the side of his head back down on his pillow, hips jerking as the finger rubbed over his still overly-sensitized prostate. "I don't need to make sense," he murmured before yawning. "I just went through heat. Literally. Like, the last time was the actual last time, ya know?" He was rambling, he knew it, sleepiness making his filter go bye-bye. But whatever. He didn't need a filter and could say whatever, because he'd just survived his heat.

"You're gonna milk that for a while, aren't you?" Derek questioned like he already knew the answer, finger gliding around his rim.

"Damn straight," he mumbled, eyes closing, head shuffling to get into a comfy position. Because naps were awesome and he was totally taking one and Derek could do whatever to his ass. He was too sleepy to care really.

He felt another laugh against his skin before the finger was fully slipped away from his skin, hearing what sounded like the Alpha wiping his hands on the sheets. Gross. Them again, he had no idea when these sheets were last changed so he could've been laying in all kinda of disgustingness, his body covered in sweat and come.

The sheets were white though so they'd been switched out at some point. It was still his blue pillowcase on his pillow so he was happy about that. The sheets could do whatever they wanted to as well, so long as they left his pillow alone.

"You ready to shower now?"

Stiles let out a long suffering groan, eyes scrunching up in dislike. "Nooo," he whined. "Don't wanna move."

"Too bad," Derek responded, smirk in his voice as he got off the bed, patting the younger man on his back. "Let's go."

"Nope," he refused, clutching his pillow tighter and closer to his head. "Not getting up."

The Alpha sighed long and hard before flipping the teenager over onto his back and yanking his pillow away. It wouldn't have been nearly as annoying if it hadn't seemed so damned effortless. The guy barely let out a grunt as he moved Stiles. And yeah, okay, Stiles could admit he wasn't the heaviest, most densely packed muscle-head or anything but still. It should not seem to easy to flip over a hundred and forty pounds of dude.

"Whoa! With the manhandling," he objected, arms flailing about and smacking Derek in the shoulder as the Alpha leaned over him. Arms were slipped under his knees and behind his shoulder blades before he was lifted up off the bed. "And now you're carrying me like a princess? Seriously?"

"Would you rather I sling you over my shoulder and carry you caveman style?" he asked drily, eyebrow cocked as he made his way to the door.

Stiles just stared at him, trying to judge if he was for real. When there was no change in his facial expression, he backed down. "No, this is cool. Beyond cool. This is awesome and totally rad," he rambled before his face grew serious and he pointed a finger at the other man in warning. "Just so long as you remember I'm not a princess," he wrapped up, watching his head as he was carried bridal style over the threshold of the bathroom. Not nearly as romantic as he imagined it would be on a honeymoon, but he'd take it.

"Noted," the Alpha placated, stepping into the shower. He gently placed Stiles on his feet, blocking the spout with his own body before turning it on and shivering when the cold water hit him.

The Omega snuggled up to the larger man's front, hands tucked between their bodies as he pressed close. Despite not feeling an overwhelming need to be filled like he had been, he still was desperate to touch and be touched, to feel skin against his. Derek seemed to understand this, his arms wrapping around him and rubbing up and down his back in a soothing manner. Stiles took it as a signal to press in closer, tucking his head into the older man's chest. He inhaled his cinnamony scent with every breath, feeling comforted by it and the naked warmth all along his front.

They stood there for a long time just cuddling before Derek flipped their positions, getting the teen's hair wet. He washed it slowly, massaging the Omega's scalp while doing so, making Stiles feel like he was turning into a big pile of goo. He was totally boneless, using the larger man to hold him up, satisfied hums leaving him. He didn't mind being carried like a princess if it meant he got the royal treatment like that.

Hair rinsed, Derek set to work cleaning all over Stiles' torso and arms, washing his back, inadvertently tickling his belly button, scrubbing the dried come off his stomach. All the while, Stiles kept a hold of him, made sure he wasn't going anywhere and that he could easily grab hold and snuggle into him again.

When his upper half was cleaned, Derek sank to his knees, keeping an arm wrapped around Stiles' leg both to hold him up and to give him a sense of being held. That, plus his grip on broad shoulders seemed to be enough to keep his coyote calm and his hormones under control. The Alpha focused on cleaning his legs one at a time, from toes to hips, paying special attention to where the slick and come had dried on his inner thighs.

The Omega bit his lip to hold back a groan at the sight of the older man on his knees in front of him, cock stirring from the attention. The hand moving the washcloth along his inner thighs didn't help, causing it to start filling.

And there he'd even thinking his heat was over.

No, it wasn't his heat. It was Derek and his actions causing Stiles' apparent hair trigger arousal to kick in once again. He'd be pissed if the sight of the Alpha on his knees wasn't so fucking hot, if his mind wasn't already supplying him with x-rated images of the other man nuzzling at his cock before sucking it down, fingering his hole until he came crying out Derek's name. Again.

The Alpha turned his attention to his dick, gently wiping it clean, making sure he covered every millimeter, including in the slit. Stiles groaned loudly, hips bucking at the sensation before bowing over the other man's crouched form. He plumped up to full hardness in seconds, his slick flooding his passage and trickling past his still gaping rim.

"Shit," he gasped, fingers digging into broad shoulders, hips flexing as his dick tried to get more attention.

But the werewolf wasn't taking the hint and rose to his feet instead, hands lightly gripping the younger man's hips as he ignored the whines and whimpers. "I need you to turn around and brace yourself against the wall, okay?"

"No!" the Omega protested loudly, slamming his body against the other man's, holding thick biceps in a death grip. Turning around wasn't an option. Ever. Because then he couldn't see Derek or smell him or hold him or be held by him. Not okay with him or his agitated coyote.

"Stiles," Derek began calmly, that talking to a skittish animal tone back. "I gotta clean your hole out, okay?"

"No," he repeated, head buried in the larger man's chest again. "No. Need to touch you and see you and smell you." He ran his nose along a wet collarbone, sniffed loudly along the way, taking in the scents of cinnamon and vanilla and clean water.

"Stiles." This time his name was spoken as a warning, a light rumble behind it, hands tightening and pushing him back slightly.

Nope. No fucking way. That was not a thing that was gonna happen.

He gasped as he lifted his head, met the Alpha's hard eyes with wide ones, brows lifted slightly in a pleading manner. "Der," he panted out, feeling his body trembling all over. He was losing control of himself again, arousal buzzing under his skin and making him desperate. "Please." He pressed closer again, gasping then groaning as his cock brushed against Derek's. "Oh god, Der, please. Please please please."

"Stiles." There was no bite to his name this time, more of a desperate plea of his own, edged with a whine. He was slowly starting to lose his resolve, his own control slipping. He just needed to be pushed a little in the right way.

Stiles slid his hands up slick arms, around to the back of the Alpha's neck, putting their foreheads together. He panted hard against the other man's lips, breathing shaky like his nerves and body. "One more time," he pleaded. "Just fill me one more time and I'll be okay. Please just once more."

Derek swallowed hard, nostrils flaring as he caught the scent of Stiles' arousal, of the slick trickling down his crack, down his balls, down his thighs. "Thought you said your heat passed," he managed to get out, voice rough. He let out a gasp, his eyes widening, alerting the younger man to his own actions. Because his hips had started moving on their own, thrusting up along a half-hard shaft, the water from the shower easing the motions.

"I lied," Stiles breathed out, licking his lips before continuing. "I lied and I'm sorry but I lied. I'm a coyote, we trick wolves, I tricked you, but I need you. Please, Der, need you so bad." His voice turned to a whine at the end, his words a rambled begging.

His stomach clenched a little with guilt over lying about lying but he quickly got over it. Because Derek's eyes were flickering between red and green and there were the tell-take pricks of claws on Stiles' hips and the Alpha was clearly losing his control even more, was right on the verge of giving in.

"God, Stiles," he breathed out, the words a praise and a swear all in one, like he was torn between what he really wanted to do.

Almost there.

"I'm sorry," Stiles panted, wrapping his arms around the other man's neck and bringing himself impossibly closer. "I'm sorry, but I need you, need you so much. I'm so wet and so empty and I _need_ you. _Please_." His own claws dug into the back of his neck, a growl rumbling up in response.

The sound turned into a groan, but Derek gave in, easily lifting the Omega up by the back of his thighs. Stiles automatically wrapped his legs around his midsection, ankles hooked on his lower back, hips canted for easier access. His hole was pulsing, gaping, ready to welcome whatever wanted in, his slick flooding inside him more to help ease the way. An arm wrapped around his lower back, helping hold him up, Derek's free hand wrapping around his own cock.

"Be a good li'l Omega and spread those cheeks for your Alpha," he rumbled, making the younger man moan.

But he did as ordered, reaching down and holding himself even further open. The head of Derek's cock searched around him, gliding along his crack and over his cheeks before finally locating its destination. And in one smooth thrust, he was inside and fully bottomed out.

"Fuck, Derek!" Stiles gasped out, hips bucking up in an instinctual need to get away from the invader only to slide back down again. His arms draped themselves over broad shoulders, mouth hanging open as a whimper left him with the air he was exhaling.

The Alpha grinned smugly for a brief moment, hands returning to leaner hips and using his grip to move the younger man up and down his cock. It didn't take long for him to start a punishing pace, slamming himself deep inside the Omega with every thrust.

Stiles moaned wantonly each time he was filled, groans drowning out the sound of the water hitting the shower basin. He felt the drag of a thick head along his prostate, the vein rubbing his walls, the width of his dick keeping his rim stretched out. It was beautiful and glorious and he was completely ruined on sex forever because no way would anyone be any better for him after this.

"Don't stop," he panted out, wide eyes meeting green, pupil-blown ones. "Don't ever stop. Just keep fucking me all the time forever."

"Can't," Derek ground out, pausing to gasp. "Guy's gotta eat."

"Eat _me_. Eat my ass, but _always_ knot me," he demanded on a near growl, tugging at the short hairs on the back of the Alpha's head.

"Jesus, Stiles," the werewolf moaned, eyes half-lidded and flashing red. "The filth that comes out your mouth when you're in heat."

Stiles swallowed hard as he felt that pang of guilt inside once again, knowing it wasn't the heat making him say those things. Okay, maybe he was a little less censored than usual due to his hormones having wreaked havoc on him over the past five days or so, but he'd been thinking it for a while. Actually knowing how it felt to have Derek inside him and knotting him just solidified his desires and made him one-hundred percent sure that he never wanted to give it up or lose it.

Was just too bad the other man didn't feel the same way.

He mentally shook that off, focusing on the here and now, on the way he was being filled and thrust into like it was all Derek wanted to do as well. He tightened his arms and legs, used them as leverage to start moving himself up and down, meeting the older man thrust for thrust.

"Oh no, you don't," Derek growled, eyes turning red and staying that way.

In a blur of motion, Stiles found himself spun around and pinned against the back wall of the shower, Derek blocking the spray of water falling down. The Alpha unwrapped his arms and stepped back, pushing at the teen's chest until only his head and shoulders were on the wall, body held up by strong hands on his lower back and legs wrapped around a toned waist. He had zero leverage, was given no choice but to hang there and take whatever was given.

The submission of it had him groaning, fresh slick flooding his passage.

"Gonna make you come just from me," Derek stated in a rumbling voice, feral smile on his face, and Stiles damn near came just from that.

But instead, he pressed his hands flat against the wall and whimpered, sharp teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

Derek started pounding into him in earnest, deep thrusts that rubbed against his prostate with each slam inside, jarring the Omega's body. Stiles cried out at the sensation, body overwhelmed at just how fucking good it was, how much he loved his Alpha dominating him and taking control, taking what he wanted. Nonsense fell from his mouth, sounds and syllables he wasn't sure were words or just the verbal equivalent of keysmashing, claws scratching at the walls as he struggled to find purchase or an outlet for the intensity of what he was experiencing. He could feel the pinpricks of claws on his lower back, see the hints of fangs in Derek's mouth, his lips parted as he panted rather than breathed, as he grunted with each slam in and groaned with each tight grip around his cock.

Stiles' instincts were taking over and he tried tilting his head back in submission, only to meet resistance. He settled for leaning it to the side and turning his head away, baring his neck in a way he hoped pleased his Alpha and showed what a good little Omega he could be and how he should mark him and fill him and knot him and Mate him and keep him around forever and ever and ever, the end.

In reality, Derek only got part of it, his eyes now practically glowing red as a deep, pleased growl rumbled up from his chest. He hoisted the coyote up, their chests slamming together, claws sinking into the fleshy globes of his ass as his fangs pierced the sensitive skin of his neck, deep enough to mark, though not permanently.

The sensation of sharp teeth sinking into his flesh caused the Omega to cry out, screaming the other man's name as his orgasm tore its way out of him. Shudders wracked his body, nerves firing and sparking all over, muscles tightening up as the pleasure coursed through every inch of him. His hand slammed out against the shower wall, claws sinking into the back of the older man's neck, mind barely aware of what his body was doing as it closed off all functions not related to experiencing the overwhelming pleasure of it all. The feeling intensified as he felt a pulsing inside him, his Alpha coming and filling him up, making him groan louder as his mouth hung open. His claws scratched down the shower wall until he could no longer reach, flying around to the other man's back and sinking in there, right between his shoulder blades.

Right over the tattoo he got to represent the paternal side of his family.

It took a long time for them to come down, both shaking as they stood in the shower, lukewarm water washing over them. Well, Derek was standing at least. Stiles was still being held up, cock still buried deep within his passage, arms and legs wrapped around the other man like a limpet. He was clinging on to the Alpha like his life depended on it, and from the shakiness he was feeling inside and out and all over, maybe it was. The feel of Derek's skin on his was the only thing keeping him grounded and feeling like he was still in his own and he never wanted to lose that sensation. Ever.

But he never got what he wanted. Ever. Because Derek was withdrawing his teeth from his neck and raising his head, was pulling back slightly from him, was sliding his fangs and claws back within himself and regaining control of his body. It was over. And there was no knot, meaning he could pull out whenever he wanted to and there wasn't a damn thing Stiles could do to stop him.

Derek stared at him with an indecipherable look in his eyes, his scent washed out by the smells of come and the water still pouring over them. Meaning Stiles couldn't get a read in him, couldn't figure out what he was thinking or feeling, if he was glad it was over, annoyed by his clinginess, was giving in to Alpha instincts and placating his Omega at the detriment of his own wants.

The corner of his lips curved up in a sardonic smile, eyes lazy, distant, a mix of emotions in them to match the swirls of greens and browns and golds. But when he spoke, it was with an amused edge, a playfulness that didn't quite match the tight lines around his mouth or the dimness in his eyes.

"Now I'm gonna have to wash you all over again."

Stiles grinned cheekily, pulling himself closer with arms wrapped around the Alpha's neck, resting his head alongside Derek's. He didn't see anything wrong with that fact at all.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It took a lot of finagling and more Alpha strength than Derek probably wanted to use, but he finally managed to get Stiles unwrapped from around him and standing on the shower floor. He washed them both off quickly, finally managing to get the Omega's hole cleaned out like he'd originally wanted, the task made more difficult by the teenager's flat out refusal to let Derek out of his sight. Or out of his grasp.

The older man dried them both off with quick precise movements before carrying Stiles through to the living room and laying him on the couch. But when he made to move away, the younger man tightened his grip around his neck and whined out a prolonged "nooo!"

Derek gave him a flat look, reaching around to grab at the Omega's fingers. "Yeeees," he mimicked before continuing in a soothing voice. "I gotta go change the sheets really quick and this is the comfiest place for you, okay?"

"No!" Stiles continued to argued, clenching his fingers as he felt them being pried away.

"I can't let you lay on dirty sheets," the Alpha pointed out, tone almost pleading with him to understand.

But he didn't care. He didn't care if the sheets were dirty or clean or not there. He just needed Derek, that was all. Derek could keep him warm and covered and safe and, and. And just _hold him_.

"Don' leave me," he slightly slurred, whines leaving him, fighting harder as his fingers were freed from their grip. Oh no. Oh no no no. He couldn't let go, had to keep his Alpha near, needed to be touched and petted and held. He needed to smell his scent and feel his warmth and hear his heartbeat and why the hell wasn't Derek getting this?

"I'll be right back, I promise."

His arms was completely pulled away despite the fact that he was fighting it with as much strength as his tired Omega body had. But he was no match for an Alpha on a mission, or an Alpha at any time, and he was left with his arms held on his own chest, fingers making grabby hands to try and gain some sorta contact with the other man.

Derek pressed his lips to his forehead and Stiles whined in the back of his throat, choking out the werewolf's name in a broken plea. But it was ignored, the older man pulling away and disappearing, leaving him alone on the couch with fatigued, jelly limbs that couldn't help him follow the guy he needed pressed against him.

He whined loudly, coyote whimpering even louder in his head, both sides of him distraught and agitated. He curled up into a fetal position in his side, feeling cold all over. His skin was too tight and too loose at the same time, his hole still open and exposed, entire body feeling vulnerable. And he was tingling, god was he tingling, and not like the heat tingles were it was more of a low simmering burn all over, but like pins and needles all over, like his entire body had fallen asleep but his brain was awake and upset. Fuck, where was Derek? He needed Derek, needed his scent and his skin and his touch and—

And fabric hit his face, making him gasp and nearly choke in surprise, arms flailing to remove the obstruction. A pillowcase, a white one, one that smelled like cinnamon and sex and Alpha and...and his Derek.

He held the pillowcase to his nose, breathed in deeply, snuffled his nose around whenever the scent lost his potency. It helped ease the buzzing, helped calm his coyote enough for his human side to relax a fraction, his body no longer feeling like it was gonna crawl out of its skin.

Stiles had no idea how long he laid there like that, was only aware of arms slipping under his body and lifting him up again. He was carried through to the bedroom, jostled about as Derek settled on his back on the bed, laying Stiles on top of him. The Omega dropped the pillowcase onto the floor as he nuzzled into his Alpha's chest and inhaled the pure scent of him that wasn't diluted or mixed with cotton and fabric softener.

A satisfied "mm" left him as his eyes drifted closed, arms wrapping around his back and holding him close. The buzzing tingles were gone, his skin more or less the right size, his coyote showing its belly in quiet submission. He let the fatigue of sex and heat and frantic worries over the other man leaving him take over and settled in to sleep.

"My Alpha," he murmured into tan skin, shuffling his head about before finally drifting off.


	12. Chapter 12

Day six was entirely slept away.

Well, mostly at least. He woke up to use the bathroom once, then to drink when Derek had decided he was too dehydrated. The Alpha also had him eat a little, making him tomato soup with Goldfish crackers, just like he did when he was babysitting him, Scott, and Malia. The taste of it brought back warm memories from his childhood and he snuggled into the older man more as he was spoon-fed.

He asked about the cinnamon rolls at one point, being promised that they'd get some the next day when he was feeling more up to it. The answer placated him and part of him realized there was no way he could even handle putting something as heavy as baked sugary goods in his stomach. The crackers in his soup had been enough for him at that point.

Instead he rolled over and fell back asleep in Derek's arms, the place he'd been the entire day. He didn't dream, his reality far better than anything his mind could come up with.

For the moment at least.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Day seven greeted Stiles with an agitated coyote pacing about restlessly inside his head, its own head ducked down, tail between its legs, whimpers leaving it constantly. The human knew why pretty much immediately, knew it was because it was their final day there, because they were going home at some point.

Because Derek wasn't in the bed—or even the room—with them.

The sounds of puttering about in the kitchen reached Stiles' ears, his nose taking in the scents of freshly brewed coffee. Clearly Derek was making breakfast, doing his Alpha Hunter/Gatherer thing and letting the Omega rest up after everything he'd been through. And despite having slept most of the previous day, Stiles felt like he could sleep for another ten.

Maybe in that bed.

Definitely in that bed. Going home sounded—

Actually it sounded pretty good. His own bed, his own sheets, being left alone and not snuggled or touched or invaded or knotted. God, he was just so over being touched. His skin was sensitive, felt like it'd been rubbed raw and all his nerves had been left exposed and they were continuously being messed with.

He sat up, shoving the sheet away, feeling like it was chaffing him, despite the softness of it. Maybe it wasn't the sheet itself though, he considered. Maybe it was just the scent that lingered on it, that now familiar cinnamon smell that was gonna haunt his dreams even more than before.

Fuck, he just wanted to go home. He didn't wanna deal with Derek—or anyone for that mattered. He was so ready to be left alone to recuperate by himself, no people around.

The door open and he yanked the sheet over his lap in a habitual move. Probably didn't matter all that much, since Derek had already seen all of him—and touched all of him, too—but he still did it if for no other reason than the symbolism of it: hands off, no peeking, heat is totally freaking done and over with.

An odd mix of relief and despair hit him and he hid the emotions, instead watching the Alpha with sleepy eyes as he rounded the bed, two mugs in one hand, familiar silver packages in the other.

"Wasn't sure which ones you wanted," he explained, pausing by the nightstand Stiles had commandeered for the week and placing a mug of coffee on it. "So I grabbed a s'mores and a cinnamon brown sugar one. S'mores are on top." He put the Pop Tarts next to the coffee before walking back the way he came, bypassing the door instead of going through it.

"Thanks," Stiles croaked out in a sleep roughened voice, corner of his lips shakily curving up in a grateful smile.

Derek shrugged one shoulder as he settled on the other side of the bed, legs stretched out in front of him with crossed ankles. "No problem," he replied nonchalantly, bringing his mug to his lips and sipping.

The Omega nodded, noting the good six inches of space the other man deliberately left between them, the way Derek seemed to be sitting as far away as possible without risking falling off the bed. Stiles tried telling himself it was just because the older man knew how sensitive he was feeling and how burned out on touching he was, having gone through it himself and even explaining it to the teenager, but there was still a sharp sting of rejection in his chest, the paranoid belief that the Alpha was siting like that because he wanted nothing to do with Stiles anymore.

His coyote whimpered in his head and he ignored it, masked his scent. Reaching over, he grabbed a package of Pop Tarts, grateful the s'mores were on top and that he could use the convenience of them as an excuse for why he was avoiding the cinnamon brown sugar ones. Because he couldn't stomach anymore cinnamon stuff and wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to eat anything with that flavor ever again.

Which was weird 'cause usually he could devour an entire box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch all by himself in one sitting. Stuff was good.

He ate in silence, Derek stoic beside him, leaning back against the headboard, holding his mug on his lap with both hands. He was dressed, pair of distressed jeans and olive green v-neck covering his frame, feet still bare. Stiles was pretty sure it was the first time either of them had worn clothes since day two of his heat and the sight of it was kinda odd, not to mention incredibly jarring, a blatant reminder of their plans for the day.

Seemed like Derek was eager to get him home so he could officially be done with the whole thing and no longer have to service his kid bro's best friend.

Ouch.

Stiles slipped the second pastry from its silver packet, surreptitiously glancing at the silent presence beside him. The werewolf had his eyes closed, nostrils flaring as he regulated his breathing, hands cranked around his mug. But his shoulders were slumped, face completely expressionless, betraying nothing. And the distance at which he held himself spoke of an awkwardness that hadn't been there since Stiles' first night when he said he'd freely welcome cuddles.

God, he'd fucked up, hadn't he? He'd made things weird between them by asking the Alpha to service him. Because now the older man knew what he looked like naked, knew how he acted when desperate, knew his body better than Stiles himself and how to coax all those sounds out of him. He'd seen the Omega at his most vulnerable and needy, had been inside him and filled him and marked him. And they were supposed to go back to being family friends, to spending holidays together and acting like nothing had happened. It'd been weird enough being around the guy after he'd accidentally walked in on Stiles jacking off—three times, which he was not looking at as a pattern despite the old adage his dad used during cases, but rather as a case of bad luck and "seriously, Stiles, quit being a scatterbrain and learn to lock the fucking door!" There was no telling how bad and how uncomfortable things were gonna be between them now that Derek had seen him in the most intimate ways during the most private acts.

Holidays were gonna suck. Which wasn't something Stiles thought he'd ever believe but he did. They were gonna suck and it was all his fault for thinking he was gonna get over his crush by having it fucked out of him. He'd been wrong. _Way_ wrong. Because his crush wasn't just sticking around, it had grown, to the point where the Omega knew that if he wasn't already in love with Derek, he was most definitely on his way there.

And Derek didn't want him that way.

So now he was stuck spending holidays around a guy who'd pretty much rejected him without even having to use words and pretend that everything was hunky-dory and a-okay and he was just fine, thanks, how are you? When really, he was kind of dying inside.

Awesome.

He swallowed hard around his chewed up food, stared down at the remaining half a pastry. Happy holidays indeed.

"I can feel you thinking," Derek murmured, eyes still closed, head leaning back against the wall.

"Just wonderin'," he began, tapping his Pop Tart against the packet still on his lap. "Are things gonna be awkward between us from now on?"

He wasn't entirely sure why he asked but he needed to know. Because he'd promised Scott it would be okay and he'd be breaking that promise if things were weird between he and Derek during the holidays. There was no way he could claim it was _just_ heat sex when he could barely pass him the candied yams at Thanksgiving, or that it was no big deal when he refused to watch the older Alpha open his gifts at Christmas. And he needed to know things would be okay not just so he could reassure Scott and have it be the truth, but for himself. He needed to know that they'd get over the awkward hump they'd seemed to hit and that he'd be able to move on, maybe bring home a boyfriend or girlfriend for those holiday meals and not worry about any weird tension, that when he found his mate, he could introduce them to his family friends the Hale-McCalls and not have to explain why things were strained between him and Derek. He needed to know so he could have a good, happy life and not spend the rest of his days regretting asking Derek to service him in his first heat because now he was ruined forever.

The Alpha opened his eyes and turned his head, eyebrow cocked. "Didn't you already ask this?"

"Yeah," he conceded, remembering a similar convo after the Alpha had helped him jerk off at the end of day one. "But we've done a lot more stuff since then, so maybe your answer's changed." He ended it with a shrug, playing it off, biting into his Pop Tart.

Derek shook his head. "It'll only be awkward if you make it that way, just like I said before."

Stiles just nodded in reply, staring down at his food once again, wondering if he was capable of doing that. Because he wasn't exactly the master of subtlety or of making things easy and not weird. He had no experience in dealing with an ex post-break-up so it wasn't like he could rely on old tricks or learn from past mistakes in that aspect. And on top of that, he honestly wasn't sure if he'd be able to look at Derek and not see the way his eyes flashed red during sex or remember how it felt as he pounded into the Omega, the way his knot grew and kept them together, how he filled him up so well. He wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to be around him and not felt phantom teeth in his neck or claws in his hips, if he'd be able to look at the Alpha and not remember what it was like to sink his teeth into him and mark him up. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to hear him speak and not remember the sounds of his moans and groans and growls, the way his name left those lips in a plea and a praise and a prayer.

He was ruined.

So was the pseudo-relationship they previously had.

"Look," Derek started with a sigh, hand scrubbing over his face before it dropped into his lap. "If you want it to be _just_ heat sex, then that's all it'll be. We'll go on pretending it never happened and spend the rest of our lives the way we had been, never to acknowledge it again. What happens during heat week stays in heat week."

The Omega closed his eyes and pressed his lips together in a hard line, head still ducked down. A sharp pain was felt in his chest, ribs squeezed so tight they had broken and were stabbing at his heart. Because Derek hadn't spoken in that flat tone that held back his own desires and allowed Stiles to make his own decisions without the Alpha's input swaying him one way or another. No, he'd said it with a slight hint of his own wants, of his own wishes that they pretend it never happened and that they never talk about the past week with anyone, including each other.

Fuck, it hurt. And he'd known going in it was just doing him a favor, that Derek just wanted to protect his kid bro's best friend from an asshole Alpha who'd take advantage of him because he'd been through that and knew how bad it felt. But hearing it confirmed out loud that this particular Alpha didn't want him back pretty much _killed_ him inside.

But he wasn't some weak little Omega who was gonna roll over and beg the Alpha to love him and keep him. He wasn't gonna be upset because his feelings weren't returned and start bawling like the pathetic Omegas in rom-coms or drama shows as they beg the Alpha to reconsider. No. He was a strong independent Omega who don't need no Alpha. If Derek wanted to pretend it never happened, then Stiles could do the same.

"Right," he confirmed, clearing his throat of the thickness, hoping it would be interpreted as just a result of eating. " _Just_ heat sex."

His coyote howled painfully.

His heart clenched tightly in his chest.

His entire being ached and he felt miserable and was _dying_ to go home with the same desperation he'd previously felt at wanted to be filled and knotted.

"When are we leaving?" he questioned, eyes on his lap as he bit into his food.

Derek's own eyes were trained on his mug, thumb rubbing up and down the ceramic. "Whenever you want," he murmured.

Nodding, he shoved the rest of his Pop Tart in his mouth, drained his coffee as he swallowed his food. "I'm gonna get dressed and brush my teeth then we can go."

"Alright," the werewolf replied flatly rising to his feet. He plucked the now empty mug from the younger man's grasp before shuffling out the room, closing the door behind himself.

Giving Stiles privacy to change and be naked. Because heat week was over and they were never gonna see each other naked again, or even _want_.

Okay, Stiles admittedly wanted to see Derek naked, like, all the time, but it wasn't gonna happen because Derek didn't want it to.

Shoving a hand through his hair, he held his emotions in check, ignored his distraught coyote, refused to let himself be upset or show it in any way. He was okay, he was fine, he was a strong independent Omega.

He was totally gonna hold back his tears until he was back home and alone in his own damn room.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It would've been a personal record for how fast Stiles had gotten ready to go if he'd been able to find his clothes faster. But because of his laziness earlier in the week with just dumping dirty laundry on top of his duffel and shoving things around inside of it, it took him longer than he'd hoped to find his Beacon Hills High Lacrosse hoodie and clean flannel PJ pants. With his heat over, he felt colder than usual, even though he knew his temp was probably close to normal. Just a side effect of feeling like his insides had been on fire over the past few days.

His teeth were brushed quickly and not at all properly, his things soon gathered and shoved in his duffel. He double-checked he had his charger, his phone, his keys, anything and everything he'd taken out. Satisfied he had it all, he headed to the living room and alerted a waiting Derek that he was ready to go home. The Alpha didn't say anything, simply slipped his own flip-flops on and lead him out the apartment, both of them flip-flip-flipping along their way.

The car ride was mostly silent save for the sounds of Green Day's _American Idiot_ album playing low in the background, both men staring out the windshield. Stiles sat with his legs drawn up to his chest, hands shoved in the pocket of his hoodie, shivering every now and then. If Derek had a problem with his feet on the leather seats, he didn't voice it, simply glanced at the Omega out the corner of his eye as though checking to make sure he was still there.

Which he obviously was. Wasn't like there was anywhere for him to go while in a moving car. Unfortunately.

Fucking hell, had it really taken this long for them to go from his house to Derek's apartment? He didn't remember the trip being this long.

“I'm gonna hit the drive-thru at Cinnabon,” Derek stated lowly, pointing with a finger at a sign up ahead, rest of the digits still gripping the top of the steering wheel. “Wanna eat 'em in the car or at your place?”

“No,” Stiles replied roughly, not looking at the driver. He didn't want Cinnabon, didn't wanna cinna-anything, didn't even wanna be around Derek or Cinnabon employees or, or, or _anyone_. He just really, truly, honestly wanted to be home in his bed, wanted Derek to be gone so he could mourn a relationship that never was. He was having more and more trouble keeping himself together as time passed and he wasn't sure how much longer it would be before he totally broke down and just cried.

The Alpha glanced back and forth between him and the road, eyebrow cocked before he put a shaky smile on his face. “Wasn't a 'yes' or 'no' question.”

“I don't want Cinnabon,” he clarified, voice still raspy.

They pulled up to a red light, Derek easing the Camaro to a stop, turning his head fully towards the Omega. “Are you sure? Cau—?”

“I just really wanna go home and get in my own bed and be alone for a long, _long_ time,” Stiles explained, eyes closing as his head fell back against the seat. A silent plea was audible in his quiet voice, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. Because he needed to get away from the other guy, needed to have Derek just be _gone_. Out of sight, out of mind, and it was easier to pretend nothing had happened between them or what _had_ happened meant nothing if the Alpha wasn't around reminding him of the truth.

That they'd spent Stiles' heat together.

That they'd had sex. A _lot_.

That Stiles was in love with him.

That he wasn't in love with Stiles or even wanted him at all.

Yeah. Stiles needed to be home. Now.

Derek nodded slowly, understanding washing over his face. “If that's what you want,” he murmured, turning back to face out the windshield once again.

“It is.”

More nodding, the red light shifting to green, and the Camaro was driving forward once more, _Whatsername_ playing through the speakers. It was easier to focus on the break-up song than it was to let his coyote take over, to actually pay attention as his inner-animal howled long and sad, as it paced about and whimpered, as it scratched pitifully and hung its head.

As it reacted to Stiles' heart slowly breaking.

They finally managed to make it to the Stilinski house not long after, Stiles not hesitating to get out the car. A black SUV emblazoned with _SHERIFF_ across each side was parked in the driveway alongside his powder blue Jeep, his dad apparently not having left for his shift yet. He wasn't entirely sure if he was glad, only now realizing that he'd missed his old man over the past few days, or slightly annoyed because now he'd have to deal with yet another person.

Duffel and pillow grabbed from the trunk, he scuffed his way up the sidewalk to the front door, the wooden portal opening before he could even grab the knob. His dad stood there in his full uniform, gun at his hip ready to be used, walkie-talkie attached to his shoulder still turned off, star badge gleaming from its spot on his chest. The older Stilinski's brow was furrowed in confusion, blue eyes filled with worry, lips parted and showing his bottom teeth in a way that meant he was unsure of what to say but knew he needed to speak. It was a face Stiles saw often growing up when busted pulling another prank or being involved in shenanigans with Scott. Stiles just didn't think it would be the expression he'd be greeted with upon arriving home.

“Hi, guys,” the sheriff welcomed them, glancing behind his son at the Alpha Stiles could feel was standing there a foot or two away, maintaining a respectful distance but still wanting to be close in order to protect him. Damn Alpha instincts.

His dad turned his attention back to him, confusion and surprise coloring his voice. “Didn't expect you home so early.”

Stiles shrugged a shoulder, duffel shifting about with the movement, before stepping inside. His dad moved to the side to give him space, the confused “I should say something here” face deepening.

“Stiles was ready to come home,” Derek answered, shoving his hands in his pockets as he paused outside the door, face and tone both emotionless and giving nothing away.

The sheriff turned to his son, stopping just short of putting a hand on his chest and causing Stiles to stop on his way to the stairs. “Everything okay?”

“Peachy,” he replied, forcing a grin on his face, knowing it looked fake and that he looked tired and seriously, why wasn't he being allowed to just go to his room and be alone? Preferably forever.

Or maybe not because he was too loquacious and he needed to talk to someone eventually and the internet only did so much for that.

His dad arched an eyebrow, folding his arms over his chest in an authoritative manner, Sheriff Mode switched to “on”. “Stiles,” he spoke the name as a warning, the “don't fuck around, just tell me the truth” going unsaid.

The Omega sighed, head lolling back, eyes closing, shoulders slumping. He wasn't being commanded, but there was no getting around his old man when he was in that kinda mood. His best bet was to play along and answer the question and then hope he'd be allowed to go.

Not that he was actually gonna _do_ that. Hell no. Not to his dad and especially not in front of Derek. Fuck. That.

“Dad,” he halfway groaned. “I _really_ just wanna get in bed and sleep, okay?” Opening his eyes, he met his dad's blue ones, pleading with him, hoping he looked as exhausted as he felt. Which was, like, beyond exhausted. He could pull a Rip Van Winkle and be totally okay with it.

His dad seemed to get it, nodding with an empathetic smile on his face. “Okay, son.”

The corner of Stiles' lips quirked up for a second in a grateful smile before he tromped upstairs, flip-flops louder than ever on the hardwood floors. Bedroom door shut behind himself, he dumped his duffel by his desk and kicked off his shoes before belly-flopping down on his bed, pillow under his head. His bed was still unmade, comforter still rumpled, and he wrapped himself around it, pulled it over his head, hoping it would help him hide from the world and feelings and other stupid shit like that.

The muffled sounds of his dad and Derek talking reached his ears, too obstructed to be deciphered and he ignored them, blocked it out. A minute or two later, he heard the Camaro start up and pull away from the side of the road, engine getting quieter as it drove off, soon followed by a knock at his bedroom door.

“Go away!”

The door was opened anyway, his dad stepping inside and remaining near the exit. “Everything okay, son?” It was his Father Mode voice, the sheriff gone and replaced by the dad who struggled to fix skinned knees and give dating advice and was so uncomfortable over so much of Malia's puberty that he enlisted Melissa McCall's help, the dad who had no clue what he was doing after his wife—the stay-at-home mom—had passed but he tried valiantly anyway because he loved and cared about his kids and wanted to do the best job he could in raising them, even if he wasn't the greatest at it.

Stiles felt like an ass, but...But it couldn't be helped. Because everything wasn't okay but he couldn't say that. It would worry his dad and his dad would try to get him to talk and he'd have to admit to fucking up. That he'd fucked up by asking Derek to service him, that he'd fucked up by falling for the guy, that he'd fucked up for wanting so badly to be with a man who was only looking out for his kid bro's best friend. And no one wants to admit to fucking up.

And on top of that, romance wasn't exactly Sheriff Stilinski's forte. He and his wife had been high school sweethearts, their only relationship. He hadn't so much as sniffed at another female since. Hell, it was kind of a miracle that he was able to hold a conversation with Melissa since she didn't work with him so he couldn't exactly talk about work related things with her like he did with the women at the station. Not that it would matter if he had been out with a whole bunch of women. Stiles' love issue was with another man and on top of that, he was an Omega. He wasn't entirely sure how accurate or useful his straight Alpha father's advice would be.

So he did what his kind was known for: he lied.

“I told you I was fine,” he pointed out with a grumble, covers still over his head.

“And I told _you_ that you're a terrible liar.”

Stiles could practically picture the finger his dad was aiming at him, the emphatic point, before clothing shuffled and he folded his arms over his chest.

The sheriff sighed, speaking in a calmer, slightly defeated tone, realizing that was all he was gonna get out of his son and there was no point in trying to interrogate any more out. “Look, I can have someone cover my shift and stay home with you,” he volunteered softly.

“No!” The younger Stilinski shoved the covers back from his head, rolled onto his back so his face was at least visible. He still didn't actually _look_ at his dad, eyes trained on the ceiling as he shoved a hand through his unstyled hair. “I'm fine, really,” he lied more because it was better than the truth, easier, and because his dad needed to work. Single income house with three people in it? They needed the money. “Just. Go to work.”

“You sure?”

Stiles nodded, licking his lips and finally tilting his head down to look at his old man. The sheriff still looked worried, frown lines more prevalent as he stared at his son with downturned eyes and lips. “I kinda just wanna be alone,” he murmured, proud of at least being honest about that part.

The Alpha nodded, face not changing much, but willing to go along with his son's wishes. “Alright, Kid,” he agreed with a sigh before slipping into Stern Dad Mode. “Text if you need anything,” he ordered. “My shift's over at six and your sister should be home sometime after that. I'll order us a pizza for dinner.”

Stiles gave him a thumbs up and a small smile, not bothering to put up an argument. Ordering pizza meant he didn't have to worry about cooking or his dad trying to cook. He'd asked Melissa to keep an eye on his dad for him while both he and Malia were away and if he knew her as well as he believed he did, then she'd had him on as strict a diet as Stiles usually did. One meal of cheating wasn't gonna hurt. Plus they'd all earned it, with Stiles and Malia having just gone through heat and their dad probably worrying himself into an early grave over his kids' well-beings.

The sheriff gave him a small smile of his own, stepping back before stopping in the threshold, hand on the frame of the door. “Did Derek—” he started then paused, trying again. “He didn't. You're okay, right? Physically? He didn't do anything you didn't want, right?”

“No, he didn't.” Another mostly honest answer. Because physically, Derek hadn't done anything wrong, had made sure Stiles hadn't gone out of his mind or was left unsatisfied at any point, had made sure he wasn't hurt in any way. He'd looked after his mental well-being, too, making sure everything they did was everything Stiles wanted and not anything he was against. He'd made sure the Omega was happy, letting him control the TV and movies and whatever it was they did during downtime, kept him well-rested and hydrated and fed. Really, the only things Derek had done that Stiles hadn't wanted him to were to make him fall for the Alpha then break his heart and take him home.

Although the last part was debatable, because he _had_ asked to go home, but he also wanted to stay with Derek. Forever.

His dad nodded, seeming appeased by the answer, giving his son another small smile. “Love you, Kid.”

“Love you, too, Dad,” Stiles responded, shaky smile on his face, voice threatening to give out on him.

After a slap to the frame, the sheriff left, shutting the door behind himself and leaving the Omega alone.

With his distraught coyote.

With his broken heart.

With his stinging eyes and aching chest and churning stomach.

The Beacon County Sheriff SUV started up then pulled off, carrying his dad off to work. Stiles snuggled back down into his blankets, burrito-ing himself inside them, covers over his head again. He snuffled into his pillow, inhaling the scents of vanilla icing, his home, Derek's apartment, cinnamon, and sex. It was only then that he let the tears start falling.


	13. Chapter 13

Getting out of bed wasn't a thing Stiles did anymore. Because there was no point. Getting out of bed meant going forth and interacting with people and doing things and being an active part of the world, which was totally and completely not something he felt the desire to do. There was no Derek for him anymore, so why should he go out there and deal with a life that didn't include him in it?

So he just. Didn't.

Except for the rare occasions Stiles wasn't in bed—solely just to use the bathroom—he was constantly burrito-ed up in his comforter, the covers living up to its name and comforting him in a way nothing else could. In his blanket cocoon, he was safe from reality, from a world with no Derek, from a life in which the Alpha had rejected him. The covers kept him together, kept the cracks of his broken heart from spreading and splintering every part of him until he was nothing but a shattered mess.

His coyote was just as lethargic, spending its days on its belly, head on its paws, sad whimpers leaving it every now and then. Stiles was glad the full moon had passed by without incident during his heat, offering him a small solace in the fact that he wouldn't have to worry about leaving bed to shift.

His dad constantly checked in on him, brought him food he didn't really eat and drinks he barely sipped. Every time he'd ask Stiles if today was the day he was gonna get outta bed and rejoin the world and every time Stiles would burrow further into his blankets. He gave up at some point, the Omega not exactly sure when. The days had all blurred together into a long stretch of Derek-less existence and his black-out blinds didn't help him decipher the passage of time by using the sun. He just knew that it'd been a while, had to have been, given the way the pain in his chest got worse and the fact that Derek's cinnamon scent was slowly starting to fade from his pillowcase. Stiles just hoped it stayed on his skin and was glad he hadn't showered before leaving.

The marks the Alpha had left on him were long gone, a fact that had made Stiles breakdown and cry when he woke up and could no longer feel indentations of teeth on his neck. He'd never hated his fast healing before, but at that moment, he loathed it. Because the repaired skin on his body and the fading scent on his flesh and pillowcase meant he was losing physical proof of that week, meant that it was harder to hold on to their time together, and easier to pretend it never happened.

He didn't wanna pretend. He wanted to remember, as much as it killed him inside. He wanted to feel those marks and smell that scent and remember the way it felt to have Derek sink his teeth into him and claim him, the way it felt to have Derek's body writhing over his as he filled the Omega up and thrust into him, the way it felt to be held close and fall asleep in those arms and feel safe in a way he hadn't completely felt since his mom had died.

But he was losing it, all of it, the marks, the scent, the memories. They were all getting fuzzy, details being lost, moments gone, never to be recovered. Part of him felt like it was a good thing, that whenever he finally dragged his ass outta bed and went looking for his mate, he wouldn't constantly be comparing any potential candidates to his former heat partner. He wouldn't have to worry about anyone not living up to the Alpha and the way they were with each other because he wouldn't quite remember it. And with those memories weakening, it would be easy to cover them up with new ones with a new Alpha.

The other part of him was terrified of anyone replacing Derek, found it impossible, especially when he was never leaving his cocoon and his bed. He was staying there until he was old and gray and just waiting to die. The crazy old cat man who never settled down and got Mated.

He hated cats though. Stuck up bastards.

Still, Stiles was never leaving his bed, not even when his dad came in and announced that it'd been a week since he came home and "don't you think it's time you got outta bed. Or shower?"

The words were spoken with a grimace and Stiles could imagine the disgusted look on his face. The older Stilinski already complained about the smell of his room—which wasn't his fault, he was a teenaged boy and he had _needs_ , okay?—and the fact that Stiles had now apparently gone eight days without bathing, the place probably stunk like hell.

Not that Stiles could smell it. He'd gone nose-blind to anything that wasn't cinnamon.

He let out a curt "no", burrowing down into his cocoon, dragging his pillow with him. Holding it close all the time clearly wasn't helping save Derek's scent on it, was instead wiping over it with his own, but it couldn't be helped. It was all he had that was even remotely close to the Alpha's smell and he needed it like air. It made things hurt just a little less and he was scared shitless of how much pain he'd be in when it fully disappeared. Because his pain wasn't just emotional; it had manifested itself into a physical ache he felt whenever he was away from his pillow and its barely there cinnamon note, nearly crippling in its intensity.

And it was only gonna get worse.

The bed dipped beside him, his dad sitting down with a much practiced sigh of exasperation. "Scott keeps stopping by to check on you," he stated, voice muffled by the comforter but his persuading tone was fully audible as he tried to talk his son into getting up.

Right. Good luck with that one.

"And I'm sure your phone is full of texts and voicemails."

Stiles shrugged a shoulder, blanket moving with the motion. His phone was actually empty, since he'd deleted everything that wasn't a message from Derek. It was mostly Scott, a few texts from Kira, a few from Allison, one vaguely threatening voicemail from Lydia involving a creative use of her nail clippers and a sensitive part of his anatomy, a text from Jackson that had obviously been coached by his nail-clipper-wielding ex, and a " _dude u ok?_ " from Danny.

But nothing from Derek.

Not that he actually thought Derek would contact him for any reason, but still. Guy could hope. And then get crushed under the weight of that shattered hope as reality made him its bitch, much like the universe. And his insomnia, which had yet to make a reappearance after taking time off for his heat.

He supposed depression did that to ya.

"Ya know," his dad began, voice sounding distant, despite still being on Stiles' bed, like he was mentally somewhere else. "When you, Mal, and Scott were all little and playing together, your mom and Melissa used to talk about how great it would be if one of their kids Mated one of the other's."

Stiles felt his heart clench at the mention of his mom, but didn't say anything, just let his dad take that stroll down memory lane and describe the sights to him.

"Mel thought it might've been your sister and Scott, but Claudia had this feeling it was gonna be you and Derek and nothing could convince her otherwise." He ended it with a small chuckle, most likely remembering his late wife's penchant for talking with big hand gestures when adamant about something, a habit she'd passed down to her son.

Stiles finally shoved the covers down to his chest, laying on his back as he stared up at his dad with a confused frown. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked shakily, voice rough from not being used much over the past week, other than lies about being fine and saying "no" when offered anything or had a suggestion sent his way.

His dad turned his head from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed, back to his son, hands clasped between his legs. He was in jeans and a burgundy pullover, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, his usual off-duty attire and Stiles absently wondered if he'd just come back from a shift or had the whole day off. Not knowing what time it was didn't help him with any answer.

Concerned blue eyes met his whiskey ones, corner of his lips curved up in a wistful smile, the way it always did when reciting a happy story about his wife. "Because your mom was clearly right."

That clench in his chest got worse, turning into a vice grip as a dozen knives stabbed him in the heart. God, he missed his mom, missed her wisdom and her kindness, missed her understanding and her advice. The fact that she was convinced about her son's future mate was such a her thing and it hurt to know she'd thought about that even way back when they were all trying to shove sand in each other's shorts and trying to out-gross one another with contests over who could make the most disgusting mudpie then eat it.

But it hurt even worse to know that his mom was wrong. It almost felt like tainting her memory, like desecrating her grave by disagreeing with her over something she'd been so one-hundred percent adamant about. Yet she _was_ wrong and it made the loss of Derek that much more painful.

Stiles stared down his reclined body, noting how his hands were wringing together on his stomach, fingers tangling then untangling. "He doesn't see me like that," he mumbled, lump forming in his throat that stubbornly stayed put, even after repeated swallows.

His dad stared at him with that confused "I know I should say something but have no clue what" look, brows creased, bottom teeth on display. "You're sure about that?" he asked dubiously, like Stiles had just told him the sky was green with pink cotton candy clouds and was raining down Skittles as unicorns called on them to "taste the rainbow".

Okay, Stiles would readily admit to being a little weird and out there and... _unique_ to put it nicely, but he wasn't _that_ weird.

"He made it pretty damn clear, yeah," he answered, voice cracking towards the end. His teeth sank into his bottom lip, the physical pain a distraction from the emotional, and he used it to hold back the tears that were stinging at the back of his tired eyes.

"Well then he's an idiot," his dad stated bluntly before see-sawing his head. "Or maybe you are for not telling him how you feel, I dunno." He scrubbed at the back of his neck as he shrugged.

The Omega's brow furrowed in confusion and slight offense. "Thanks, Pops," he replied sarcastically.

"I love you, son, but sometimes you do some dumb shit."

"No, really, thanks." He put a sarcastic smile on his face, coupled it with a thumbs up before slapping his hand down on his stomach again. Trust his dad to boost his ego and make him feel better about the whole thing with compliments and praise. Just awesome.

"You two make sense together somehow, I can't explain it." Another shrug, with a shake of the head and his hand held out to symbolize that he had no idea how to explain his statement. "You just compliment each other and you have this raport that I could never understand. Back when you were kids, you always gravitated towards him and he'd always protect you and look out for you. He was more worried over you than he was over his own brother."

The younger Stilinski snorted, pouting at his wringing hands. "Yeah, 'cause I'm an Omega."

"No, because he cared about you. The fact that you're an Omega just means you compliment each other even more," the sheriff pointed out, before smirking and letting out a small laugh. "And let's face it, son: you aren't a typical Omega by any stretch of the imagination, at least behaviorally, and the only person who'd be able to handle your strong personality is Derek."

Stiles shook his head as he pushed himself into a sitting position, back against the headboard of his bed, knees drawn up to his chest. "Doesn't mean we're supposed to be together though," he mumbled, dangling his hands off his knees. "Just means he was a good babysitter."

"How 'bout the fact that your scents work together? That mean you're meant to be?" his dad questioned, tone more stern and clearly done with his son's bullshit, another thing Stiles was used to when it came to his old man. "Or how about the fact that you haven't showered or even left your bed since you left Derek's, which is clearly a sign of your coyote missing its mate? And I would know since that's all I want to do after your mom passed."

Stiles winced as he stared down at his lap, eyebrows then drawing into a frown. His mind supplied flashes of memories, of him and Malia spending a lot more time at the McCalls' house, of Melissa coming over frequently with meals, of multiple occasions when he and his sister would go into their father's room and find him still in bed, despite it being four in the afternoon, a piece of their mom's clothing pressed to his nose as he stared blankly at their Mating Ceremony photo. He'd forgotten about all that, the details fuzzed out over the years, and he hadn't realized he was exhibiting the same behaviors that his dad had.

And he hadn't even permanently lost his mate the way his dad had.

Shit.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder and he glanced up at his dad, noting the sympathetic smile he gave him, the sad look in his blue eyes. "Just tell him," he suggested softly. "Life's too short for bullshit."

Stiles nodded because he felt like it was the thing to do at that moment, not because he agreed. Because there was no way he was telling Derek anything, not when the guy wanted to pretend their week together never happened. "What happens during heat week stays in heat week", meaning whatever feelings he may have developed and/or deepened during that time didn't matter, didn't count. Confessing to said feelings was a terrible idea and would be met with rejection and reminders that all they would ever be was what happened while Stiles was out of his mind with arousal and Derek did the proper Alpha thing and serviced him.

Serviced his kid bro's best friend. Because that's all Stiles would ever be to him. Ever.

And it hurt like hell.

His dad gave him a small smile, clapping his shoulder twice before rising off the bed and making his way out the room. Stiles kept frowning at his lap before the presence of another heartbeat alerted him of someone hanging by his open door, a familiar scent invading his nose.

Looking up, he spotted his sister leaning against the door frame with her arms folded over her chest, eyes narrowed analytically, lips twisted in a way that meant she had something to say but for once was holding back.

"You here to boost my ego, too?" he questioned sardonically, bracing himself for whatever insults his twin was preparing to sling his way.

Malia pushed away from the door frame then made her way into the room, motorcycle boots clomping with each step. "I'm here to tell you that you reek so much of depression that it's making me wanna slit my wrists," she stated bluntly, in only a way she could. "That, plus you smell like an actual dead coyote left rotting in the desert in the middle of a hot day."

"So that's a 'yes' then," he muttered, shoving a hand through his unstyled hair as she stopped beside his bed and stared down at him. Her face was hard, letting him know that she wasn't about to be as kind or as sympathetic as their dad had been, but was totally ready to literally kick his ass if needed.

"The idiot thing goes without saying."

'Course she'd been eavesdropping. She was almost as inquisitive— _not_ nosy—as he was. Plus the door had been left opened in a house full of people with exceptional hearing. She was bound to hear his convo with their dad.

Not that he thought she hadn't purposely listened in or anything. He knew her better than that.

"Thanks, Mal," he said with a sarcastic smile, stretching his legs out in front of him. He tilted his head down, eyes focused on his fingers as they played with the sleeve of his hoodie, the hems darkened with dirt and sweat from his palms.

"Bunch of us are headed to the movies," she announced, flipping her hair back over her shoulder, some of it getting caught on the denim vest she wore over her white tee. " _You_ —"she pointed at him "—are gonna shower and smell more like the human part of you should and come with us. It's some foreign film Kira's dying to see so there shouldn't be anything to remind you of Derek and how badly you fucked up by not telling him that you wanna permanently be his mate."

Stiles grimaced, heart clenching for the umpteenth time that--well, he want sure if it was afternoon or evening or whatever. Point was, he'd been hit right in his emotions several times over the past half hour or so, the pain of it more intense after having gone so long without hearing his mom or Derek being mentioned out loud.

Benefit of not talking to anyone really.

But now he'd had two convos right in a row, both featuring names and topics that made the aching holes in his chest hurt more, the reminder of his losses causing him to become more aware of their existence and how badly it killed him that he didn't have those people around anymore.

Fuck, what he couldn't give to just curl up around his mom, head on her lap as she scratched her nails over his scalp, soothing him with her words and her scent, the way only a mother could.

Stiles rubbed at the center of his chest with the heel of his hand, as though he could erase those holes or fill them over or somehow dilute the pain he was feeling from them. He knew it wasn't physical, that the aches were all in his head, but it didn't stop his heart from lurching and missing a beat or two at the mention of Derek's name.

He kinda wanted to curl around the Alpha with his head on his lap, too, but knew if he actually had Derek in his life the way he wanted, he might not need to do that. At least not as badly. Maybe on the anniversary of his mom's death, but certainly not with the aching need he was currently experiencing.

Peering up at his sister, he cocked his eyebrow at her, weak smile on his face. "Anyone ever tell you that you have the subtlety of a wrecking ball?"

Malia snorted, head bobbing with the action. "Miley Cyrus can suck it," she scoffed before glaring down at him, finger pointed in warning. "Now shower, asshat. We leave in fifteen." Having said her piece, she turned and marched her way out the room, leaving the door open in a habit she'd had since Stiles had decided he preferred it closed because he needed time away from his stupid, icky sister.

Typical.

A heavy sigh left Stiles, hand shoved in his hair again. He really, truly, very much didn't wanna go to the movies, or have anything to do with anything involving getting outta bed. But there was no talking Malia out of anything once her mind was made up, Stilinski stubbornness and all that, meaning he really didn't have a choice. She'd literally drag him there, claws in his neck and growls in his ear, regardless of whether or not he'd showered, then spend the entire movie muttering under her breath about how much he smelled and what exactly he stank like.

No choice.

"I don't hear you moving, dumpster breath!"

Stiles rolled his eyes as he shoved his comforter back and swung his legs to the side, only halfway hearing his dad's chastising of his sister and her subsequent insistences that Stiles' breath smelled like an actual dumpster and therefore she wasn't being mean to him. He shuffled over to his closet and yanked down the first random tee and jeans his hands grabbed hold of, telling himself he was only showering and going out to get Malia to shit up and leave him alone. Even after she'd drag him out, she'd constantly be on him, never leaving his side as she continuously insulted him and rambled incessantly about the exact things he didn't wanna hear. It was her own special brand of manipulating him into doing what she wanted, which in this case was having him get out of bed and out of his depressive state.

And, honestly, he could admit to himself that a shower was probably a good idea. He could actually _feel_ how bad he smelled, felt gross and sticky and covered in dried sweat which wasn't pleasant in the slightest.

Boxers grabbed out the drawer, he carried his things through to the bathroom and tried not to think about how he'd be washing away whatever remained of Derek's scent on his skin. He failed.

At least the sounds of the shower drowned out that of his crying.

~*~*~*~*~*~

When Malia had used the words "bunch of us", she'd clearly mean everyone in their little group, their makeshift pack of mostly wolves, with the exception of the werecoyote twins and werefoxes Kira and Lydia. And, of course, most of the pack was coupled up: Malia and Kira, Scott and Allison, Lydia and Aiden, Danny and Ethan. The only other person flying solo was Jackson and Stiles wasn't up to socializing with him on the best of days. Besides, the weredouche was busy chatting it up with Danny and Ethan, which Stiles wasn't in the mood to do, meaning he was completely alone.

Awesome. Totally worth leaving bed. Except for the part where it wasn't, which was the entire thing.

Whatever.

Stiles shoved a hand through his hair, wishing he could get drunk and pass out and just have that afternoon—because apparently that's what time of the day it was—be over. But since he couldn't do that—not at the moment and not legally at least—he settled for loading up on junk and hoping for a sugar crash later on. At least the stomachache he'd get would distract him from the chest pains and tingling skin he was feeling. It was almost like the sixth day of his heat when he felt absolutely touch starved and wanted to be held constantly. Only he didn't actually want anyone around him to touch or cuddle him.

Annoying. As. Fuck.

With a sigh, he scuffed his way over to the snack line, eyes focused on the candy display and scowling at the Reese's cups. Not that they'd done anything wrong, except remind him of yet another unofficially-Mated pair in his life, half of which was comprised by Derek's bro.

Without whom, he'd never would've agreed to help Stiles with his heat.

Oh man, he hadn't even thought about how awkward things could be between him and Scott. Because the brothers both had their mom's dark hair and tan complexion and smiles that were made from actual sunshine and every time Stiles was around his best friend, he'd be reminded of the guy's older bro. And holidays, shit, he'd forgotten about the awkwardness of holidays.

At least it was June. Lydia always threw a Fourth of July party at her place, and school started at the end of August. Stiles didn't have to worry about anything until Thanksgiving, five months from then. Hopefully at that point he'd have moved on and maybe even found someone else at Stanford.

Or at least learned how to think about Derek without feeling like he'd been hit with Mjolnir in his chest.

Repeatedly.

Probably not gonna happen, but Stiles had a terrible habit of fantasizing about things that would never occur in a thousand lifetimes so why should this be any different? He was an idiot. A hopeless idiot. Just flailing through life on gangly limbs wishing for the best as he stumbled after what he wanted and would never be able to obtain, all the grace of a newborn baby deer.

"Bambi!"

Yep, just like Bambi.

Wait. What?

Stiles lifted his head from where he'd been staring down through the glass counter at all the candy for sale, coming face to face with a smirking blonde in a black polo, the theater company's logo displayed on the left side of her chest, slightly obscured by the braid she had swept over her shoulder. He raised at eyebrow at that before lowering it, corner of his lips weakly turning up in a lame imitation of an amused grin. "Elsa braid?" he questioned, recognizing the hairdo from thousands of _Frozen_ pics and gifs he'd had shoved in his face during the hype surrounding the movie.

Erica's grin grew, chocolate eyes sparkling in delight. "Yep," she responded, pink painted lips popping the "p". Her head tilted to the side, dark shadowed eyes looking him up and down, lips twisting in thought. "You look like hell by the way."

"You should've seen him _before_ he showered," Malia butted in, suddenly appearing on his left, nose scrunched up in disgust.

Stiles rolled his eyes, snorting. "Thanks, sis," he muttered, getting a shrug he interpreted as "no prob" in return. He hunched his shoulders in self-consciousness, thumb of one hand tapping against the fingers of the other in a nervous habit and he seriously regretted going out. Socializing wasn't his thing beforehand, always feeling awkward and his anxiety ratcheting up; he was severely loathing it at that moment as his coyote paced about and whimpered, his stomach in knots and chest tight. And to make matters worse, he was with one of Derek's Betas, who would inevitably tell her Alpha who she'd run into at work and how terrible he looked.

Weak, pitiful, pathetic little Omega.

"No, it's good you look like hell," Erica spoke up as she bent over and leaned her forearms on the counter, clearly sensing his distress. He quickly masked his scent and pretended like everything was all right, but didn't think he was too successful given his sister's confused stare. Instead, he focused on Erica's last words and what the hell was that supposed to mean?

He looked at her with a confused frown on his face, eyes squinting and lips parted as he struggled to finger out how to respond to her.

Only for her to continue speaking before his mind got a chance to figure it all out. “Makes you match Derek's whole Beast thing,” she stated with a wave of her fingers. “Well, more like the Beast than usual anyway.”

The confusion just grew, Malia's face matching his now, her puzzled scent mixing with that of the freshly made popcorn and the soft drinks being poured at the next register.

Stiles glanced at his sister before putting his hands on the edge of the counter, leaning more towards the blonde female. “What Beast thing?”

He didn't get an answer. Instead, Erica popped up, sparkling grin on her face as she yelled out “Todd!”, eyes fixated to something on Stiles' right. He turned his head to see Scott bounding over, more puppy dog than werewolf, lopsided grin on his own face.

The Omega watched as his best friend hugged Erica, the two leaning over the counter as much as possible. He was at a loss for words, completely lost as to why she'd called Scott “Todd” when that very clearly wasn't his name. Unless it was a random inside joke thing Erica created for her Alpha's little bro, much like the way she called him Bambi.

“His name is Scott,” Malia pointed out bluntly, pointing at the mentioned male.

Hug ended, Erica straightened up at her station, turning to face the other female. “When I met him, he had floppy hair that reminded me of droopy ears,” she explained with a shrug. “Plus if those eyes don't say 'total puppy dog', then I don't know what does. Therefore he's Todd from _The Fox and the Hound_.” She ended her spiel by gesturing to Scott in a game show hostess-like manner, the Alpha smiling widely, proudly.

Malia frowned at her statements before turning to her brother, looking him up and down before tilting her head to the side. “Guess that makes you Copper,” she decided, hands on her hips in a habit she'd had since childhood, her own way of declaring that what she'd said was law and whoever disagreed got a claw somewhere delicate.

He figured she'd had to learn pretty fast how to get the upper hand when being raised mostly around other boys. He just wished she hadn't resorted to violence in order to hold her own.

“No, he's Bambi,” Erica corrected, winking at Stiles who wisely kept his mouth shut and refused to get in the middle of a disagreement between two females. He'd seen enough debates between Lydia and any girl who dared think she was wrong to know better than that.

Brown eyes traveled up and down him, Malia analyzing and studying him like they hadn't seen each other nearly every day over the past eighteen years. “Makes sense,” she agreed with an impressed pout, nodding more to herself than anything.

Stiles turned to Erica with an eye roll. “Your obsession with Disney knows no bounds, does it?”

The blonde scoffed, arms folded over her chest and her hip cocked out defensively. “Like I keep telling Derek, _Star Wars_ is now owned by Disney and therefore I am not the only one with a Disney obsession so he can shut it.”

Scott snickered to the side, Malia groaned at obvious memories over her brother's own obsession with the franchise, and Stiles just folded his arms over his chest to hide the Admiral Ackbarr _It's a Frappe!_ logo on his tee.

“Speaking of Derek,” he began, thankful for the segue. “What Beast thing were you talking about?”

Erica straightened up at that, eyes twinkling at the chance to go on about Disney stuff again. He silently wondered if she was secretly a four year old in a twenty-something's body, a were-princess who lost her shoe or turned into a mermaid on the full moon. Then he realized he was being an idiot and needed to focus on the actual convo at hand.

“Other than the anger issues and the whole turning into a giant fur monster thing?” she questioned, only halfway serious. At least it seemed that way. Scott chuckling on his right wasn't helping him decide her level of joking in that statement.

“He didn't have any anger issues or anything with me,” Stiles muttered, wondering when the hell he'd given his mouth permission to speak and why the hell he was defending Derek. The guy was an Alpha so it went without saying that he had temper and was prone to blowing his lid faster than any other orientation. But throughout the entire week Stiles had been with him, the werewolf hadn't lost his cool once. In fact, he'd seemed pretty damn relaxed and at ease—when he wasn't mid-coitus or in the middle of a _Star Wars_ debate, of course. Although even in the middle of a “Han Shot First” argument, he didn't completely blow up. He got pretty passionate and gesticulated a lot but there was nothing angry or dangerous about his mood or behavior. No, Derek had been pretty calm all week and he honestly couldn't remember a time when Stiles had ever seen him pissed.

Okay, maybe once when he was talking about Rafael, but that anger was totally justifiable and understandable.

Erica raised a manicured eyebrow, lips twisting into a devious smile, painted nail tapping on the counter. “Interesting,” she drawled, analytical eyes roaming Stiles as they seemed to search for...for who the hell knew really. Other than Erica, but he wasn't about to ask her, not when she had that look in her eyes that seemed like she was about to tear into him to see what made him tick.

No thank you.

So instead, he shifted the topic again. “Feel like there's more to your explanation,” he pointed out, hiding the nervousness and curiosity from his scent, trying his best to remain impassive. Both Malia and Scott gave him questioning looks, clearly aware that his lack of scent meant he was hiding something and that no good ever came from it.

Oh well.

The blonde bobbed her eyebrows as she dismissed whatever thought she'd been having, leaning forward with her hands braced on the counter, hip cocked out slightly. “You remember in _Beauty and the Beast_ when Cogsworth asks the Beast why he let Belle go and the Beast says it's because he loves her?”

Malia rolled her head towards him, eyes narrowed in a dare, challenging him to say 'no'. Because _Beauty and the Beast_ and _The Lion King_ had been her favorite movies when they were kids and their mom made them compromise and take turns watching their faves together. His twin had spent a week crawling around on all fours, yipping and pretending she was the dog-turned-ottoman before pretending to be Nala and pinning him to the ground whenever she got the chance. He couldn't go to sleep without hearing either soundtrack playing from her room and he still perfectly recalled the sniffles when Belle left the Beast and then when the Beast was killed by Gaston.

So yeah, he knew the movie. And he definitely knew the scene. But for the sake of his manhood, he wasn't admitting that he could perfectly recite the dialogue from that moment, even if it was Malia's fault.

So instead he shrugged a shoulder and rubbed at the back of his head. “Vaguely.”

Malia scoffed and rolled her eyes. He ignored her.

Erica nodded once before speaking in a calm, reasoning tone. “The Beast saw Belle wasn't happy at the castle and that what she wanted most was to leave, so he let her go, despite the fact that it broke his own heart and made him miserable. But he did it, because he loved her and wanted her to be happy. Sound familiar?” She leaned further over the counter, eyebrows raised in a pointed look, wordlessly commanding him to understand what she was implying with her words.

Not that he needed the order. He understood perfectly.

His sister huffed out a laugh, amusement curling up the side of her mouth. “So, Stiles is a Disney princess now?”

Oh fuck him, seriously?

He glared at her. “No,” he insisted. “I already told Derek I wasn't.”

“I don't wanna know,” Malia and Scott both replied perfectly in sync, Malia grimacing like she smelled something rotten, Scott closing his eyes and wishing himself away.

“No, Stiles is still Bambi,” Erica clarified, adjusting where her braid was laying.

“Who would probably get eaten by the Beast,” the brunette female pointed out, because his twin was nothing if not inappropriate and obnoxious and slightly argumentative.

Stilinski genes at its finest.

The Beta huffed, brown eyes rolling, annoyance flooding her scent. She focused solely on Stiles, expression serious, eyes hard. “Derek lied and took you home because he thought it was what _you_ wanted, just that week and nothing more,” she explained in a rush, tone brokering no argument. And with her steady heart rate and calm scent, she was telling the truth. “Alphas are programmed to give their mate—especially an Omega mate—anything and everything they want, regardless of how much it hurts themselves.”

Out the corner of his eyes he could see Malia and Scott nodding, agreeing with what she'd said. Made sense, how they made sure their mates were fed and sated first, no matter how hungry they were, how they were all going to see Kira's obscure choice in movie, how Scott would go with Allison to the gun range or the archery range despite not being a big fan of guns and being totally uncoordinated and useless with a bow and arrow. Derek had done the same with Stiles, gave him the remote and let him control the TV, let him eat all the good pieces of popcorn and not complain when he was stuck with the burnt ones and the kernels, offered to take him to Cinnabon like Stiles had asked.

Had taken Stiles home when he'd said he was ready, even though his instincts probably wanted him to continue caretaking and making sure the Omega was all right.

Had agreed that everything that had happened would _just_ be heat week, because that's what Stiles had verbally said he wanted.

Had serviced Stiles during his heat, because he'd asked him to.

Shit.

His heart sped up, chest tightening, coyote thumping its tail in hope. He felt shaky all over as the prospect of what he wanted actually happening took over and made his mind race with a million thoughts. It was possible, it was actually fucking possible that Derek felt the same way about him as Stiles did, that he'd lied because he wanted to give Stiles what he desired most and wanted him to be happy. Because...

Because Stiles was an Omega and Derek was an Alpha. And Alphas were programmed to give into Omegas.

Shit again.

His heart sank as reality sank in once more and he felt like a total dumbass for getting caught up in the hope that maybe he'd been wrong about the older man's affections for him. Turned out he'd been right all along.

First time he'd ever been upset about actually being correct.

And it was over this.

Stiles licked his lips, pressed them together, tangled his fingers in front of his chest. “So Derek let me go in some sorta Alpha instinct to make an Omega happy,” he summed up, staring at the chrome edge of the glass counter, ignoring the glimpses of his reflection he could see. He already felt pretty damn pathetic; he didn't need the visual of him looking it to back that up.

“Nooo,” Erica drew the word out. “Derek let you go in an Alpha instinct to make his _mate_ happy. He's had a crush on you for—” She trailed off, head shaking back and forth as she tried to think, only to shrug. “For a long fucking time basically. That day you showed up at his apartment when me and Boyd were over? I raced to the door to try and see this infamous Stiles we kept hearing about and get a glimpse of you myself, rather than old family pics he had on his phone. Boyd and Isaac were curious, too, that's why my mate pinned Derek down, so he couldn't prevent _you_ from coming in and prevent _us_ from finally seeing you in person.”

Stiles' eyebrows went to high-five his hairline, hanging out there for a while as what she said sank in. Scott grimaced like the idea of his brother having a crush on a guy who was practically a second brother was the worst thing he'd ever heard. Malia stared off into space with her head tilted and her lips pursed, a sign she was lost in memories and trying to piece things together.

And Stiles? He'd forgotten what words were and how to actually make them leave his mouth. Because _Derek_ had a _crush_ on _him_ , had for a while apparently. And he'd told his pack about him, about the guy he had feelings for, to the point where he was known as “the _Infamous_ Stiles” and his pack were dying to meet him, risking pissing off their Alpha and getting their asses kicked for insubordination and disobedience just to see him with their own eyes.

Holy. Shit.

“Wha—?” It was all he was capable of, half a syllable. And even if he _did_ manage to get the whole word out, he still had no clue what the rest of his sentence would've been.

Because...what?

Erica refolded her arms over her chest, shrugging a shoulder, lips curved in a smirk and eyebrow raised that reminded him of all those damn _Frozen_ images of Elsa. “Don't believe me? Go ask him yourself,” she stated nonchalantly, tone letting him know that she didn't care either way, the same tone Derek would use when attempting not to sway Stiles' decision.

Stiles nodded dumbly, coyote scratching and pawing and holding and insisting that they go to their Alpha and talk and find out what exactly the truth was. Because if it _was_ true, then his dad was right and he was a total idiot.

He stepped back, body moving on automatic, ready to leave, only for a hand to clamp down on his forearm.

“Whoa, Bambi!” Erica stopped him, leaning over the counter and hauling him back in closer. “Not now. He's at work and this is _not_ a convo you wanna have in front of Peter.” She gave him another pointed look as she dropped her hand and he nodded dumbly again.

“So,” he started then paused, licking his lips before continuing. “What do I do now then?”

“Go see the movie,” Malia pointed out in a “duh” manner, reminding Stiles of her presence. A quick glance around showed that Scott had left and was currently snuggled up to Allison, head in the crook of her neck as she rubbed his back and made soothing noises. Apparently his brother crushing on his best friend was too much for him to take.

He mentally apologized to Scott and vowed to make it up to him with lots of mindless, violent video games. And Reese's.

“Right,” the blonde backed her up, nodding once affirmatively, eyes trained on the now lone male. “Derek gets off at five, will be back at his place about five-twenty. _Snowpiercer_ ends at five-fifteen and it takes about another fifteen minutes or so to get to his place, depending on traffic.” Her eyes moved around, lips twisting as though she was trying to figure out if she missed anything. “Oh, and Isaac's working the evening shift at the bowling alley, so he won't be off 'til eight and home at around eight-thirty, so you should have plenty time to sort your shit out.”

It was scary how much she knew about her pack's schedules. Stiles barely remembered where his friend's were heading to college, only recalling that Lydia, Aiden, Danny, and Ethan were headed east, Scott and Allison were off to Stanford with him, and his sister and Kira were off to UC-Berkeley. Erica apparently knew not only where they worked part-time, but what shifts and times they were working. He wondered if she'd taken on the role of Pack Mom, since she was the only female amongst them. Would explain why she knew had all that info and why she was trying to help Stiles out rather than berate him for hurting her Alpha.

Which...

“Why are you doing this?” he questioned weakly, more curious than accusatory and defensive. “Why are you trying to help me out?”

“Because the way to fix this fixer-upper is to fix him up with you,” she singsonged with a grin, ending it with jazz hands.

Malia's eyes were wide as she looked at the other female in slight horror and confusion. Stiles just stared flatly, the “you can't be serious” clearly expressed in half-lidded eyes.

“Was that a _Frozen_ song?” he asked dubiously, not entirely sure yet having a good gut feeling that it was. His two interactions with the blonde both contained references to the movie and it only seemed logical that she'd burst out into one of the tunes from the flick.

Erica practically beamed at him, bouncing on her toes a bit. “Yep.”

“Shocker.”

“I take it that's a habit of yours,” Malia commented, pointing at the other female, other arm folded over her torso. “Breaking out into _Frozen_ songs.”

The Beta nodded, smirking still. “Pretty much, yeah.”

The coyote twins both bobbed their eyebrows in an “okay then” manner, the male making a mental note to never tell the werewolf to “let it go”. That song was annoying and overplayed enough as it was. He didn't need an acquaintance taking the cue to belt it out herself.

“But seriously,” Erica began, sobering up. She leaned forward as her hands rested on the counter, brown eyes pleading with Stiles to hear her out, lips turned down in a slight pout. “Derek's one of my absolute best friends and my Alpha and he's done so much for us as a pack over the past few years without ever expecting or getting anything in return. He deserves happiness, and a good mate, especially after his last couple relationships.” She paused, ducking her head and running her hand over her braid, playing with the loose ends of it. “I don't know how much he's told you about them—if anything—but they—”

“Everything,” Stiles interrupted, voice heavy, thick with emotion and the weight of what Derek had told him about Kate and Jennifer, what they'd done to him, how they'd manipulated and taken advantage of him while in a weakened state.

Chocolate eyes flicked up to him, peering up from behind long black lashes. “Everything?” she asked, skeptical, disbelieving, surprised, all of the above.

He nodded once, repeating the word in the same serious tone. “Everything.” He let the sorrow and disgust he felt when Derek had told him leak into his scent so she knew that he was aware of everything, of all the sordid details and disturbing facts.

Erica fully lifted her head at that, eyebrows raising with it, mouth hanging open in surprise. “Wow,” she breathed out, fluffing her bangs. “Just. Wow.” She shook her head, let out a disbelieving laugh, then seemed to snap out of it. That devious smirk of her's returned, eyes lit up in a way that said she was clearly up to no good. “Really, that's just further proof that the two of you are meant to be and are mates. Just talk to him and clear the air. Please?”

Stiles sighed, hand rubbing up and down over the back of his head, considering it strongly. She could always be wrong, could have misinterpreted her Alpha's words or behaviors, could be reading into things and seeing shit that wasn't really there. There was also a chance that she was so desperate for her Alpha to be happy and to make up for all that he'd done for their pack that she'd try to pay him back by getting him laid. Seemed more likely than Derek Hale-McCall actually having feelings for him.

Then again, strangers things have happened. Like with Scott. He loved his best friend like a brother, but he was a goofball and unobservant and a bit slow at times. Yet he still managed to find a mate who was intelligent, strong, beautiful, and totally out of his league. If Scott was Todd from _The Fox and the Hound_ , then Allison was definitely Belle from _Beauty and the Beast_ and there was no way they should work.

But they did.

So maybe he and Derek could work, too?

Scratch that, he knew they did. His heat week proved that, those moments he had leading up to his heat where he was clear minded and not ruled by his dick, the rare lulls in his arousal, they all proved that. And Erica didn't seem like the type to try and play a trick on anyone or mess with their feelings. It wasn't really wolf behavior. Neither was trying to hook their Alpha up with anyone who wasn't worthy of said Alpha, which was generally anyone who wasn't that Alpha's Mate. She'd said they were meant to be. His dad had said they made sense and belonged together. Hell, even Malia had been on to Stiles' crush on Derek without him ever uttering a word and had talked him into asking the older man to help him with his heat. All those people seemed to have a clue about the two of them being more than former babysitter and kid bro's best friend. Was it really possible that it was true, that Derek saw Stiles as more than that?

Really, the only way he would know for sure how Derek felt about him was to flat out ask the guy. Which was entirely terrifying and panic inducing and no fucking way was that happening. He'd rather just crawl back in bed and hope those cats would show up themselves and he could get a head-start on that “crazy old single cat man” thing.

“Fucking hell, Stiles,” Malia groaned, drawing his attention. Her head tilted back as she looked to the sky for help before lowering again and scowling at him. “Stop being a pussy and fucking talk to Derek. I'm sick of you smelling like anxiety and depression over this guy. I'd rather you get sprayed by a skunk than put up with that stench any longer.”

Wrecking ball.

“All right,” he agreed lowly, taking a deep breath as one fist repeatedly tapped against the other. “I'll talk to him after the movie.”

“Hallelujah!” Erica cried out, arms stretched towards the Heavens before putting a professional face on and looking at them. “So, what kinda snacks can I getcha?”

Malia placed her order, requesting Kira's gummy bears first in her usual habit, as Stiles zoned out, not sure if he even wanted to get food anymore. His stomach already seemed full with a swarm of bees stinging at his insides, anxiety ratcheting up at the realization of what he'd just agreed to do.

Talk to Derek. About being in love with him.

Well, if he _was_ rejected—which seemed the most likely outcome of the whole thing—at least his bed was at home, ready and waiting to hold him as his heart broke all over again.

Deep. Fucking. Joy.


	14. Chapter 14

The movie ended up starring Chris Evans, because the Universe was still making Stiles its bitch. Not that he even really paid attention to the movie. No, he spent the two hours and six minutes—not including twenty minutes of ads and trailers and the ten minute wait for those to even start—flashing back to jokes over Stiles being Jensen and pre-serum Steve Rogers and thinking about how seeing Derek's post-shower shirtlessness was the same as seeing post-serum Steve for the first time when he came out of Erskine's machine.

Was he seriously gonna talk to Derek? Was he seriously operating on the hope that a Greek god like Derek would wanna be with a loser like him? The guy was Captain America for fuck's sakes, while he was pretty much Jensen. Only the character's attempts at flirting—namely telling one woman "nice dress" and asking a couple others if they liked "the angle of the dangle" while standing in nothing but his briefs—were much smoother than anything Stiles could come up with. They were both awkward as hell though, both goofy and sarcastic and lusted after people way outta their league. Really, all Stiles needed was a gun, some wire-rimmed glasses, some cool gadgets, a pink " _Go Petunias_ " tee, and a dye job and he'd be Jensen.

Solved the issue of what he was gonna be for Halloween.

Didn't help when it came to Derek though. Smart, kind, genuinely good, achingly hot, stupidly handsome, unfairly strong Derek who was one star spangled suit away from being Captain America, with his chiseled jaw and his muscular frame and his glorious ass.

Even in some parallel universe where Jensen and Steve both existed and weren't both played by Chris Evans, the two of them would never hook-up or work out. Just like Stiles and Derek. Really, the Omega stood as much chance of being with the Alpha as he did being with Chris Evans himself.

Still. There was a chance. And he was gonna have to take it, or risk the wrath of both Malia and Erica, the former of whom would probably rope Lydia into it and then Kira would get involved with her big, pleading eyes and then Allison would join in with her logic and romantic heart and he stood no chance against any of them, regardless of their orientation or his.

Plus, he had to admit, getting some answers would be nice. And maybe talking it out would bring him some sorta closure that would allow him to eventually move on and stay outta bed for longer than the time required to watch a movie about a perpetually moving train in a post-apocalyptic world.

Which he should probably watch online later, 'cause that _did_ sound awesome and the only thing he could remember from the film was Chris Evans' beard and Tilda Swinton dressed as a man. Again.

Movie all done and credits all rolled, their group mingled in the parking lot, debating where to go to eat. Stiles opened his mouth to offer a suggestion, more than willing to join them for dinner if it meant delaying his upcoming convo with a certain Alpha, only for Malia to cut him off.

"Stiles can't join us; he has to go talk to Derek."

Well, shit.

Scott arched an eyebrow but said nothing, arm around Allison's shoulder as she beamed at Stiles with a dimpled Disney princess smile. He got caught up in a mental debate over whether she'd be Belle, Snow White, or Merida—given her badassness with a bow and arrow—when he felt himself being shoved from behind.

"Go!" his sister commanded as she pushed him in the direction of his Jeep.

"Can't," he argued, digging his heels in uselessly, still being forced towards his car. "I gotta drive you and Kira home."

"I can give 'em a ride," Allison volunteered, sharing a conspiring smirk with her mate, dark eyes sparkling with the same devious light she'd seen Erica wear.

Et tu, Alli?

Stiles opened his mouth to argue, only to be shoved into his driver's side door, face first.

"Go!" Malia repeated, the word more of a growl this time. "Or I swear I will use your _Star Wars_ DVDs to sharpen my claws."

His eyes widened, hands scrambling to his jeans pocket to get his keys out. Because he knew for a fact that she was dead serious and it wouldn't be the first time she'd ruined his movies. She was evil like that.

Keys out, he struggled to get them into the lock then himself into the Jeep, movements frantic and hurried. Not that he was in a rush to face the humiliation of an inevitable rejection, but because he was panicking over his sister following through on her threat. He was too broke at the moment to replace those movies. Just paying for the one he'd recently sat through had stretched his budget tight.

Door shut, he started the engine, noting his sister's glare out the side window and her wordless warning as she pointed to her glowing red eyes then his normal whiskey one's, the implication that she was watching him read loud and clear. He saluted her before reversing out the space, waving to his friends and pretending like he wasn't driving off to his own execution.

No, not his own death really, just that of his hopes and dreams and heart. Couldn't be that much more painful than what he'd been suffering through over the past week though.

Then again, the Universe was still conspiring against him and would more than likely _love_ the chance to prove him wrong, especially if it made him hurt.

He was so fucked.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The drive to Derek's took longer than Erica had told him it would, solely because Stiles had made a pit stop along the way. Part of him justified it as getting an ice breaker and a conversation starter, but he knew he was just using it as an excuse to stall even more.

The steps up to the apartment seemed bigger, more difficult to ascend, like he was climbing Mount Everest rather than heading up some stairs. His stomach was flipping and churning and rolling, heart pounding wildly within his chest, hands clammy as they held onto his purchases with a death grip, afraid that if he dropped them, he'd drop his chance to talk to Derek. Ridiculous, he knew, but his mind was spinning, buzzing, whirring, a thousand thoughts about how this whole thing could go so terribly wrong swirling in his brain and he was scared. Terrified really. It was worse than when he'd showed up to ask if Derek would service him in his heat because back then, he'd had the excuse of the whole thing being a simple solution for his anxiety over that week, that he was asking solely because Derek was an Alpha he knew and trusted. Now he didn't have that fallback. Now he was fully admitting to feelings he'd had for years and risking his heart, not just his virginity. Things were gonna be awkward enough at holidays after heat sex; it would be five hundred times worse after a love confession and a rejection, no matter how gently it would come.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled his nerves and knocked on the door, grateful as hell that there was only one heartbeat on the other side and no _Frozen_ playing. This convo was gonna be hard enough with just the two of them; he didn't need an audience.

The door opened, revealing a tired, disheveled Derek in ratty, torn jeans and an old faded tee whose graphic was barely decipherable but Stiles thought he maybe saw pieces of Vaders' helmet on the black cotton. His hair was unstyled, mussed up, like he hadn't bothered doing anything with it except run his hands through it a lot, leaving it mostly how it'd been since he woke up. Not that he appeared to have slept all that much since the Omega left, bags under his eyes having worsened, standing out against pale skin and dull irises.

Stiles swallowed hard, heart wrenching at the image of an unkempt Alpha. He had to tamp down the urge to tuck him into bed and make him sleep, to caretake until he was back to his previous happier, tidier self. His coyote was whimpering and wondering exactly why it was that they couldn't do that, his Omega instincts screaming at him. But his guilt over knowing he was partially responsible for Derek's current state drowned it all out and made him stay put. After all, no one would wanna be caretaken by the person who'd caused their upset in the first place.

Derek's eyes widened at the sight of the teenager on the other side of the threshold, the lids almost immediately falling down to their previous drooping position, like they were just too damn tired to fight gravity and stay up. "Stiles," he said flatly, if not a little gruff, voice rougher than usual. "What're you doing here?"

The Omega forced a small grin on his face as he lifted up the two stacked boxes he held, a cinnamon roll inside each one, wrapped forks and napkins precariously seated on top. "Pretty sure you still owe me a Cinnabon, so I figured I'd pick 'em up," he explained, sounding more light-hearted than he felt as he wiggled the boxes then lowered them, face falling as he took in the weariness written all over the other man who was leaning against the doorframe. "Unless you're not feeling up to it, in which case I can just leave yours with you and come back some other time."

That had the Alpha perking up, pushing himself into a straighter position. "Yeah, no, I'm fine, I'm up to it," he answered quickly before moving aside. "Come on in."

Stiles flashed him a small, uneven smile as he stepped into the apartment, toeing his sneakers off before scuffing over so he was at the edge of the living room area. The door was closed, Derek shuffling over and taking the box the Omega offered him, not pausing until he was by the coffee table.

"Oh, this is for you, too," he added on, holding out a business card he'd picked up from Cinnabon and had torn into a V shape.

The Alpha cocked an eyebrow as he took that, too, flipping it over and inspecting both sides of it. “Seriously?” he snorted.

“Yep,” the teenager replied with a smirk. “Signed my birth name and everything to make it even more official that you took my V-card.” Smugness rolled off him in waves, feeling pretty damn proud that he was able to actually put that mess of letters in the right order. Granted he'd had to double-check on his driver's license, but he'd been able to spell it correctly all on his own. Which was quite an accomplishment, since his dad couldn't even do that and he'd been the one to agree to that being his son's name.

Pat on the back for the younger Stilinski on that one.

Derek nodded slowly to himself, putting the box and the card on the coffee table. “Why are you really here?” he asked gruffly, turning to face the Omega, folding his arms over his chest as his eyes narrowed in skepticism.

A nervous smile appeared on Stiles' face, barely staying, a lump forming in his throat. He swallowed hard, feigning lightheartedness, as he spoke in a easy-going tone that didn't match how he was feeling. “I already told you,” he responded, gesturing to him with his own cinnamon roll box.

“No,” the older man argued, face hard, muscles tense, lips tight. “I know you, and the cinnamon rolls are an excuse and a cover for your true intentions.”

Shit. Busted.

But he didn't show that his food purchases were a ruse, instead kept his features the same way they'd always been, his scent full of a fake contentment that masked his real emotions of being found out and the nerves that accompanied it.

“So tell me,” Derek continued, still skeptical and disbelieving. “Why are you _really_ here?”

Stiles shuffled in place, fingers drumming on the side of his box, mind whirring as he tried to figure out how to tell Derek the truth, that he came over to tell Derek that he's actually in love with him and that it wasn't _just_ heat sex. Not that he would fully know since he'd never had _any_ sex before that, but he was pretty sure anyway.

And it was with that thought in mind that he blurted out “We should have sex.”

Yeah, most definitely wasn't what he came over wanting to say, but it was out there and he had no fucking clue how to take it back without seeming totally nuts. Or at least any more nuts that he already seemed.

The Alpha stared at him flatly for several long moments, ratcheting up his anxiety with every passing second. His scent betrayed nothing, his face expressionless, and there was absolutely no way to tell what was going on in his mind until he spoke.

“What?”

It was the perfect opportunity to say “haha, just kidding” or “only messing with ya, dude, just wanted to see your reaction”. But no. Because Stiles was an idiot like his dad had said and he kept going with the ridiculousness that had made its way out his mouth before his mind could catch up.

“Yeah, well, ya know,” he stammered, choking a laugh out to go along with his fake lightheartedness. “You said yourself that I don't have any experience to compare heat sex with and sleeping with some other random Alpha wouldn't exactly be a fair comparison 'cause he might suck or something, so in order to get the most accurate data for the best result, you and I need to have non-heat sex sex.” He nodded, affirmative pout on his face, scent one-hundred percent confident in the bullshit that had just spilled past his lips. But internally, he was berating himself over yet another beyond ridiculous ramble over a half-assed idea.

Really he should just not be allowed to talk. Ever. About anything.

Derek's face was as flat as his tone as he spoke, eyes still narrowed analytically. “You wanna have sex with me as an experiment?”

The Omega winced. When it was put that way, it seemed even more out there than he'd originally thought. “More or less, I guess so, yeah,” he muttered, rubbing at the back of his head.

Silence descended over them once again, the older man nodding repeatedly as he took it all in before finally letting out a “No.”

Stiles' jaw dropped, mouth hanging open in surprise. The response was to be expected really, a sign that Derek wasn't as into him as he'd been lead to believe. But part of him was still shocked by his request being denied, having figured he'd get a “yes” if for no other reason than Alpha instincts. Yet he'd been wrong. That particular Alpha was refusing to give him what he asked.

Wow.

“No?” he double-checked, disbelief coloring his words.

“No,” Derek repeated, just as hard and cold as before. He huffed out a disbelieving laugh, more at himself than at Stiles, shaking his head as he turned it to his right, eyes fixated on the _Star Wars_ poster above the couch. “See, I knew servicing you in your heat would be a bad idea and would most likely blow up in my face, but I figured 'what the fuck? Why not?' Maybe it'd help me get over you and get it out of my system, to just act out my fantasies and be done with it.” He shrugged, turning his head to the Omega and leveling hard green eyes on him. “And I knew that it would be _just_ heat sex for you and that it wouldn't mean anything and that chances were I'd end up hurt and heartbroken, but at least I would've been with you for a little while and that would be enough for me.”

Stiles couldn't believe what he was hearing, was stunned silent and frozen, hardly able to breathe. Because it sounded like a love confession, like the Alpha was telling him that he had feelings for the younger man and there was just no possible way that was happening. At all. Ever.

The older man swallowed hard, licking his lips before he continued. “But sleeping with you again is just too much and there's no way my heart or my wolf can handle watching you leave again after I've been like you with like that, not after I've claimed you and marked you and filled you, and especially not when it's outside of the needs of your heat. I just—” He shook his head, huff leaving him as he struggled to finish his sentence. “I can't do it, Stiles. I'm sorry.” His voice got weaker towards the end, until his apology was little more than a whisper, the word cracked and broken. His eyes were shinier than before, lower lip trembling and if Stiles looked close enough, he could see a slight tremor racing through the Alpha's muscles.

His coyote was howling loudly in his head, jumping about with its tail wagging wildly. Yeah, his request had been rejected, but for a reason he hadn't been expecting: because Derek wanted more than just sex with him and wouldn't be able to handle being used like that. Because that's what it seemed like Stiles was doing, just using him for a lay, making him almost as bad as Kate or Jennifer. Shit, to think that the entire week of his heat, Derek had operated under the belief that Stiles was just using him because he was convenient, just an available Alpha with a knot who could sate his Omega needs. And he'd let himself be used, because he wanted to be with Stiles, even if it was all fake and just heat sex. He'd been pretending it was real but knowing it wasn't, just like Stiles had been.

Fucking hell, they really were both idiots.

“You,” Stiles began, pointing at the Alpha with a shaky hand. “You want me?”

Teeth sank into his bottom lip, the older man nodding as he ducked his head. His eyes were turned down at the corners, scent ashamed and apologetic, shoulders hunched in on himself. “Since you were fifteen and I accidentally walked in on you masturbating. Again,” he muttered, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. “Although it was the first time I'd caught you fingering yourself and. And it just _did_ something to me.” He raised his head then, sad remorseful eyes meeting Stiles' confused ones. “My wolf went nuts, started snarling at me to get in there and lend you a hand, pissed that someone else was using _his_ hole, even if it was just you.”

Holy. Shit.

The Omega felt his face heat up in embarrassment at the memory, knowing he was getting splotchy all over as he blushed. He shoved aside the emotion, focusing on the reason behind bringing up such a humiliating moment in his life. Three years. Three years since that had happened, since Derek had realized he wanted Stiles in such a manner and he'd kept quiet the entire time. All he could think about was the lost opportunity, the missing moments they could've had together. He would've been there for Derek after all that bullshit with Kate, would've prevented his need for dating Jennifer or sleeping with Braeden. They could've gone to Stiles' prom together, could've spent his eighteenth birthday having sex—if they hadn't been fucking already—and he could've lost his virginity outside of heat. They could've been celebrating an anniversary together sometime soon, been chatting about their Mating Ceremony, been making plans for Stiles' heading to Stanford in a couple months. So much could've been happening between them, yet they'd both prevented it because they'd both been idiots and kept shit to themselves.

At least Stiles had his reasons why. Derek's motives were a little hard to comprehend.

“Why didn't you tell me?” he asked lowly, cautiously, almost afraid of the answer.

Derek snorted, rolled his eyes, the embarrassment in his scent becoming more potent. “You were my kid brother's best friend and I was the annoying babysitter who used to throw balls at your heads and call it lacrosse practice,” he said in a self-deprecating manner. Fucking hell, the guy truly believed that he was seen solely as the obnoxious older brother of his best bud, as the asshole babysitter who acted as a killjoy and ratted out their schemes before they were even fully thought out—not that they were ever _fully_ thought out but whatever.

“And our families spend holidays together,” the Alpha continued, arms no longer folded over his chest in a defensive manner but wrapped around his torso as though holding him together, fingers clutching at the sides of his tee. “If you rejected me and didn't return my feelings, there was no way I'd be able to look at you again.”

“I wouldn't have rejected you.” Stiles found himself speaking without thinking again, but at least that time it was logical and what he actually wanted to say.

It was the older man's turned to look stunned, mouth gaping as he let out a slightly choking noise. “What?”

The Omega pressed his lips together, knowing it was now or never, that it was the most absolutely perfect opportunity for him to say how he felt and that he'd never get a chance like that ever again. If he didn't take it, then he'd regret it forever as he spent his life in his comforter burrito cocoon. Because Derek was it for him, he knew that now without a shadow of a doubt. There wouldn't be any moving on, wouldn't be any hope of finding his “actual” mate, wouldn't even be any fucking cats—thank god—it was Derek or nothing.

“Der,” he began, hating how weak his voice sounded, hated how lame he was being. How scared. And there was nothing to be afraid of anymore, no need to worry over rejection. Because Derek wanted him, too. He just needed to put it out there that the Alpha's feelings were returned. Small grin on his face, he finally located his balls and just went for it. “I've had a stupidly big crush on you for _years_. All those times you walked in on me jacking off? I was thinking of you touching me, your fingers in me.”

Green eyes flashed red, the wolf letting out a rumble of a “yeah?”

“Yeah,” he breathed out, cock twitching and passage dampening at the peek of the other man's more animalistic side. “And the real reason why I asked you to service me in my heat was because I thought it'd be the only chance I'd ever have to be with you, like, ever.”

Derek muttered out a swear, hand shoved through his hair as he let out a disbelieving laugh. “We're a couple of dumbasses, huh?”

Stiles chuckled in response, thinking of how his dad had said something similar to him. “Yeah, well, I guess it's just another sign that we really _are_ mates.”

The older man's eyes flashed red again, tongue darting out to wet his lips before a feral grin formed on his face. “Well, my mate better put down the Cinnabon if he wants to enjoy it later. Otherwise I'm gonna smash it when I claim him.”

A groan hit his ears and it took him a moment to realize he'd made the noise, too caught up in the mental image of Derek snatching him up and carrying him to the bedroom to fuck him. Blood rushed to his cock, more slick dampening his passage and he barely managed to make it to the coffee table to put his box on top of Derek's.

“By the way, there's something I was dying to do during your heat that I never got the chance to,” the Alpha rumbled, stepping close.

Stiles felt the werewolf's body heat all along his side as he straightened up, his coyote practically purring at the close proximity. That delicious cinnamon scent hit him, laced with arousal and desire, making his head go fuzzy yet clear at the same time. “What's that?” he breathed out, eyes focused on pink lips framed with black whiskers.

“This.” Without any further warning, the older man cupped his face and brought their lips together.

The gasp he let out was muffled against another set of lips and it took him only a second to get over the shock of “ _holyshitDerekisactuallykissingme_ ” before he started kissing back. His hands clutched at the Alpha's sides, fingers tangling in his tee, stepping even closer until their bodies were pressed together from hip to chest. Their lips moved in a manner that betrayed their lack of ever doing that before, motions perfectly in synch as they collided over and over again. His bottom one was sucked on, tugged, lapped at, making his skin tingle all over and his heart pound in his chest.

He had no idea how long they stood there making out, how long they spent learning the curves of one another's mouths and the motions of their lips before Derek's tongue grew more insistent, no longer teasing kitten licks but a hard press, trying to find a way in. Stiles parted his lips on a gasp, the other man's tongue slipping inside and colliding with his own, starting a push/pull tangle of dominance that he wasn't about to fucking lose, Omega or not. He moved impossibly closer, arms wrapping around his waist, his own hands sliding up a toned back and cupping his shoulder blades, fingers digging into his shirt there.

Derek set about exploring his mouth, memorizing every nook and cranny, paying extra attention to any and all spots that had Stiles shivering in pleasure. He could feel himself harden in his boxers, his slick making his passage nice and wet, and he delighted in the smell of the Alpha's answering arousal he scented with every inhale.

Eventually the older man pulled his lips away with a final chaste kiss, then another, his head lowering to the crook of the Omega's neck. An arm tightened even more around his waist, a hand drifting down to cup his ass and tug him closer, their hips colliding. He silently thanked whoever was responsible for the two of them being the same height, allowing him to feel a prominent bulge against his own, pelvis bucking on its own.

“Smell so good,” the Alpha groaned, nuzzling into his neck and making his cock twitch further.

Stiles groaned at the feel of stubble against his neck, the whiskers creating that pain/pleasure sensation on his sensitive skin, making his lips hang open while his breathing became shakier. He felt the drag of a lower lip along the side of his neck, felt the skin behind his ear being sucked on until it bruised, felt teeth sink into his pulse point. Derek was marking him all over his neck, hickeys and bite marks that let everyone and anyone know what they'd been up to and that Stiles was claimed. The thought of it had his dick plumping up faster, slick trickling past his rim as it stretched on its own, hole opening up for his Alpha.

His hips bucked forward again and this time there was an answering grind. Their pelvises began moving in rhythm, creating a friction that had his cock aching and his body burning. He felt his hole gaping, fluttering, wanting to draw something inside and he needed Derek naked, like, yesterday.

“Why are there clothes?” he muttered, hands scrambling at the hem of the other man's tee and dragging it up his back.

Derek straightened up, keeping contact at their hips, yanking his shirt over his head and tossing it away. Which was just all kinds of awesome because now he was closer to naked and he was shirtless and...wow.

The Omega's whiskey eyes widened and he was sure they flashed gold as he groaned at the sight before him. His heat fuzzed mind hadn't allowed him to get a really good look at Derek's chiseled torso and he mentally cursed himself for spending the past week in bed moping when he could've just told the guy how he felt and spent those days staring at this instead. Because there would be staring. A _lot_ of staring. And touching, oh god, the touching.

His fingers roamed flat pecs and ridged abdominals, feeling the hard muscles underneath. The skin below his fingertips jumped and twitched at his grazes, the older man's chest heaving as he breathed heavier, shakier. Lowering his head, Stiles kissed the tan flesh he'd just discovered, dragged his blunt teeth over the other man's collarbone. He lightly grazed his claws up the Alpha's sides, felt the ridges of his obliques, his tongue bisected his pecs before his lips latched onto a nipple and sucked. Derek gasped then groaned, his head tilting back, fingers sliding into tawny hair. Stiles took it as permission and flicked his tongue over the hardening nub, claws grazing over the V that separated his hips from his torso. He switched over to the other nipple, nipped at it, lapped it better, moved on to other parts of his skin. He ran his tongue along the lines that separated his multi-pack—because that was more than a lame ol' six-pack and Stiles definitely didn't have the time or patience to count the muscles at that point—sucked at individual muscles, left a few hickeys and bruises of his own all over the Alpha's torso.

 _His_ Alpha's torso.

And Derek let it all happen.

For a while anyway.

All too soon, Stiles felt his hair being pulled as his head was tugged away from where he'd been leaving another mark on Derek's pec, right over his heart. He met eyes with blown pupils, that green-gold swirl he loved so much reduced to a tiny ring around black. Lips had been kissed red and swollen, parted as he struggled to swallow air, and his cheeks were flushed above black whiskers.

An aroused Derek was a very, very, _very_ sexy Derek. And it was all because of Stiles.

“Need you,” he breathed out, fingers still tangled in short brown locks, his shirtless chest colliding with the younger man's cotton covered one.

“You have me,” Stiles whispered back, meaning every syllable. Because Derek did have him, in every sense of the word, and there was no changing that, not now that Stiles knew his feelings were returned and that the two of them really were mates and really were meant to be.

Derek's eyes turned red and stayed that way, hands moving to the back of Stiles' thighs and lifting him up. The Omega automatically wrapped his legs around the other man's waist, arms draped over his shoulders, grinning widely at his earlier fantasy coming to life and at the fact that his big strong Alpha was carrying him—and not like a fucking princess this time. The older man took one step towards the bedroom before the teenager yelled at him to wait, arm flying out to the side.

“What?”

“Cinnabons!”

Thick brows knitted in confusion, red leaking out of his eyes as Derek looked at him like he was nuts. “What?”

“I wanna eat 'em while you knot me,” Stiles proclaimed, grin growing at the growl he got in response. “I know, right? Best plan ever!”

The boxes were snatched up before they finally made their way to the bedroom, Derek moving with an ease and grace that spoke highly of his orientation. Stiles simply clung on to him, nuzzling into his neck and inhaling his scent. His cock rubbed against a ripped stomach with every step, causing him to need to sink his teeth into his own bottom lip to prevent any whimpers from leaving him. Cinnabons now on the nightstand, he was laid down on the bed, hands around the back of the other man's neck to haul him down on top. Derek went willingly, their lips reattaching, their make-out session resumed where they'd left off.

It was a world of difference from when Stiles was in heat, when he'd go from zero to _fuck me now!_ in about zero-point-two seconds. This time he could feel the slow burn of his arousal gradually building, was able to enjoy his body getting ready rather than waking up and having it beat him to the punch. He could enjoy feeling the other man's body pressing him down onto the mattress, could roam his hands over him and learn his body, learn the right places to rub and touch and caress, while learning what got himself going, too. He could get lost in the sensations of lips moving against his, of hips grinding down and creating a sweet friction in his boxers, of a hand sliding under his shirt before finally tugging it off and tossing it aside. His pleasure was a steadily increasing thing rather than a bullet train and he learned to enjoy the ride as his body shivered under the Alpha's ministrations.

Bare skin pressed against bare skin and Stiles felt his flesh burn where it touched the other man's. He pulled away from his lips when his lungs began to burn from oxygen deprivation, when his body felt like it was on fire and about to incinerate from everything. Derek nuzzled his nose against Stiles', rubbed his cheek into the crook of his neck, scent-marking him. Hell, his entire body was trying to do that, writhing against the Omega, skin rubbing and mingling their scents, letting the world know exactly who they'd be answering to if they touched Stiles in any way.

His coyote howled at the knowledge, the human part of him moaning, back arching to join in, to put his own scent on Derek, to make sure that cinnamon smell had a hint of vanilla icing with it at all times. To make sure everyone knew he was Stiles'.

The werewolf moved down his body, sucking more marks into his torso, rubbing his cheek to scent-mark him there. His whiskers scratched against the Omega's skin, the rasp barely heard over his panting, his pounding heart, his bit off whimpers. A tongue bisected his abdomen, blunt teeth nipped at his belly button, human nails scratched down his sides. His hips bucked to show the other male exactly where he was supposed to go, where to put those lips that were currently running along the top of his khakis.

“Der,” he whined, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, eyes half lidded as he stared at the stunning male between his legs.

The Alpha smirked, fingers deftly undoing the button, slowly dragging down the zipper and pressing against his cock teasingly. Stiles muttered out a few choice insults, the older man laughing against his belly, tickling the hairs of his happy trail. But Derek gave in, slid off his khakis and his socks then got comfy laying between the Omega's legs. He nosed at his crotch, nuzzled into the hard bulge, inhaled deeply then exhaled with a groan.

“Smell so good,” he moaned, panting against the wet spot that had formed at the front of the younger man's boxers.

Stiles slid his fingers into black locks, hips rising insistently. His cock was throbbing painfully, hole aching and gaping, slick soaking into his boxers and he had no idea it was possible to feel that desperate without being in heat. Granted it wasn't _as_ bad. He didn't feel like he'd die or combust if he didn't get the other man inside him right that second, but he was still beyond needy.

“Der, please,” he pleaded, the older man nodding and hooking his fingers under the waistband of the boxers. He didn't tease or take his time—thank _god_ —simply slid them off and tossed them aside.

Leaving Stiles totally naked.

Oh god!

He tried squeezing his legs together as much as he could with broad shoulders blocking his way, hands moving to cover his crotch, and he felt his face heat up in embarrassment and self-consciousness. Only Derek wasn't having any of that. He growled in agitation, hands clamping on the inside of the Omega's thighs before shoving his legs into position, knees bent, feet flat on the bed. He nipped at Stiles' hands with fanged teeth, the teenager taking the hint and moving them. Cold air hit his hole, the rim fluttering, trying to pull something in as it sat there open and exposed.

A pleased rumble left the Alpha, almost like a purr. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, pupil blown eyes looking their fill, the green slowly turning red. “God, you're beautiful,” he breathed out, sounding completely in awe.

Stiles fought off his own purr, chest puffing up in pride, coyote wagging its tail happily at the knowledge that they pleased their Alpha. A tongue dragged up the underside of his cock, teasing the vein, making him gasp then swear as it flicked into his slit.

“Holy fuck!”

“Missed your taste,” the older man rumbled, swirling his tongue around the head and lapping up the precome that had spilled out already.

The Omega groaned, fingers tangling into the sheets on either side of his body, whines leaving his throat. He fought to keep his hips still as his cock was licked all over, being completely covered by the werewolf's saliva, turning him into a quivering mess.

“There's something else I wanted to do during your heat but didn't,” Derek confessed lowly, hands slowly sliding to the backs of Stiles' knees.

He swallowed hard, fingers clenching and releasing the sheets, licking his lips as he looked down at the older man. “What?”

Without preamble, without ceremony, without lead-up, the Alpha shoved his legs back and folded him in half, then kissed his hole.

“Fuck!”

Derek licked a stripe over it, gave it a quick suck, causing Stiles to let out a sound that could only be described as a mewl. A manly mewl. Because he was a man, dammit. Just because he was an Omega...

Another lick over his rim, tongue barely dipping inside, and he mewled louder, not caring if it was manly or not.

“Oh god, you can definitely do that. You can do that all day. I am totally on board with you doing that whenever you feel like you wanna do that, which you should always wanna do that.” He was rambling, self-consciousness gone, completely replaced by sparks of pleasure coursing through him thanks to the Alpha's talented tongue and its super amazing placement.

He could feel Derek smirking against his hole, his stubble scratching at the fleshy globes of his ass as he rubbed his cheeks on each one. He let out a whimper, slick increasing its flow, dick jerking against his lower abdomen.

“Shit, Der, _please_ do it,” he begged, half-lidded eyes trained downward and begging.

The Alpha growled lowly, latching his mouth around the teenager's hole and sucking hard, making him cry out. He licked around it, lapped at the rim, dipped the tip of his tongue inside on a tease before humming in pleasure. The younger man was panting, shaking, eyes closing in pleasure as he got lost in the sensations. Derek slipped his tongue inside him, licking around and groaning, lapping up the slick that was still flowing, that was increasing. Precome was steadily dripping out his cock and his rim was pulsing in need, entire body aching.

“Der,” he moaned. “More. Please.”

A finger easily slid inside him, stopping at the first knuckle before crooking, teasing him as it tugged at his rim and stretched it. Totally not what he wanted. At all.

He tried bucking his hips down to get more inside of him, to gain more friction, to be filled more completely. But the werewolf's grip on his legs prevented any movement, held him completely in place, making him groan in frustration. “God, you're an asshole,” he complained, shuffling his hips about as much as possible. Which wasn't a whole lot really.

A chuckle gusted against his hole, making him shiver. “You are what you eat,” Derek retorted, smirk practically audible, before kissing the teenager's hole.

Stiles let out a small laugh of his own, the sound cut off as a second finger slid inside, neither digit pausing until they were fully inside. A satisfied sigh left the Omega, eyes closing again, head tilting back. “Fuck yes,” he breathed out, groaning as they rubbed against his inner-walls.

Derek continued to go slow with his motions, teasing as he scissored his fingers, teeth nipping at the inside of the younger man's thighs, the crease between them and his groin, lapping at his cock. Stiles was pleading, begging, moaning, groaning, the whole thing, alternating between niceties and insults, desperate to get more, to be filled the way only Derek could. And with something other than his fingers. But his every word went ignored as the Alpha moved at his own, slow as fucking hell pace.

Dick.

Finally, the Omega decided he'd had enough, reaching down behind himself and slipping one of his own fingers in and pulling at his rim to hurry things along.

“Holy shit, Stiles,” Derek gasped out, his own hips jerking against the bed and making the mattress move.

The teenager licked his lips, breathing out slowly as he adjusted to the invasion. “Taking too long,” he muttered, sliding his finger in and out alongside the still ones of the other man.

Derek had frozen in place, a low rumbling growl steadily leaving him, eyes fixated where their fingers were both inside of Stiles. He was completely enraptured by it, unable to tear his gaze away, totally fascinated by the sight. Stiles wished he could see it for himself, was halfway tempted to tell the older man to take a picture so he could get a glimpse as well, only to realize that that was a terrible idea. Erica had mentioned the Alpha having old childhood pics of Stiles on his phone and there was a huge possibility that she was a snoop and would stumble upon what would clearly be a sex pic and would never let them live it down.

He seemed to snap out of it after a long moment, leaning forward and kissing the back of Stiles' hand where it curved up. “Slide in another,” he commanded in a husky voice, rough from arousal. “Gotta stretch you good if you want my knot.”

A whimper escaped the Omega's throat at the image, vague recollections of how it felt to be stretched on it causing a fresh wave of arousal to crash over him. He did as he was told, slipping in a second finger, tilting his head back as he groaned. “Shit!”

The two of them worked together to stretch him, to get him ready, fingers thrusting in and out, scissoring. The grip on his hips loosened, allowing him to move in tandem with the digits, allowing him to seek out his pleasure. Derek moved up so he was laying over Stiles, nibbling on his neck and collarbone, breathing in his scent. The fingers of Stiles' free hand tangled in black locks, tugging gently, hips bucking up and making him gasp as his cock grazed against the other man's.

“Der,” he breathed. “'M ready. 'M so ready.”

A light nip was felt at his pulse point before two of the fingers slid out of him. The Alpha rose off the bed, shucking his jeans and boxer-briefs unceremoniously, wasting no time in climbing back on top of the younger man. He lined up their cocks, rubbing them together, precome making the slide smooth.

Stiles moaned loudly, hips bucking and adding to the friction. “Stop teasing and fuck me already, asshole.”

“Demanding li'l Omega,” the older man muttered, shifting his hips so that the tip of his cock was touching the back of the teenager's hand where his fingers were still inside of him.

The coyote immediately moved his hand, holding his legs back against his chest, presenting his hole even more. “Please,” he whispered, eyes locked onto flickering red ones. With a nod of the head and a push of the hips, Derek was sliding inside him, not stopping until he was fully sheathed.

“Still so tight,” the Alpha gritted through a clenched jaw, moving so the leaner male's legs were hooked over his elbows.

Stiles let out a noise that was part disbelieving laugh, part groan, eyes shut tight. His teeth sank into his bottom lip to bite back any noises as he adjusted to the width of Derek's cock, the stretch different than their four fingers but all the better for what it was. And with the heat not fuzzing his mind, he was able to take in every detail of it, the girth of it, the feel of it pulsing and throbbing inside, the vein along the underside and the shape of the head. It was incredible and amazing and awesome and he was seriously fucking stupid if he thought he could go the rest of his life without this.

Derek's motions started out slow, easy, long rolls of the hips that drove him deep. “You okay?” he questioned, voice strained, holding back.

The Omega opened his eyes to red ones, knowing his were most likely glowing gold, his fingertips tingling where his claws wanted to extend. “God yes,” he breathed out.

A huge smile formed on the older man's face, rubbing their noses together, eyes remaining locked as he slowly sped up his motions.

Stiles couldn't help but notice all the differences between that moment and the times during heat sex. He wasn't completely desperate the way he had been then, wasn't completely consumed by the need to be knotted, allowing him to fully enjoy the experience and notice more details about it. He could see the thin sheen of sweat on Derek, the way it beaded on his forehead and rolled down his temples, his cheeks, got tangled in his whiskers and hung off his jaw for a moment before falling, like it was reluctant to let go. He could see the red tinge to his cheeks, the flush he was sporting from his exertions, the color bleeding to his ears. He could smell their mingled scents, that cinnamon-vanilla swirl he was already in love with, mixed with the scents of lust, arousal, sweat, and sex, along with something warmer that he couldn't quite put a name to, only knew that he had his coyote at peace. He could really feel the way the Alpha was driving into him, how he rubbed along his passage walls, how his own cock was squeezed and rubbed between their stomachs, precome and sweat lubricating the way.

He also noticed how Derek was completely focused on him, on pleasing him, attuned to his every noise, and vice verse. The Omega leaned how the older man liked it when he squeezed his inner-muscles and made them ripple along his dick, how he liked being bitten and nibbled just as much as he liked to bite, how he had sensitive ears when he licked and nibbled and sucked on them.

He was gonna exploit the _shit_ outta that.

A pulsing was felt at the base of the Alpha's cock, his knot starting to expand and he pulled out completely, causing Stiles to whine.

“Nooo,” he begged, hands cupping Derek's ass, trying to pull him back in and hold him there. “In.”

“Can't knot you like this,” he reasoned, voice calm despite the tension in his body from trying to hold his knot back. “C'mon, be a good li'l Omega and cooperate, okay?”

The words and the way they were spoken calmed something inside Stiles, soothing his coyote. He nodded, releasing his hold on him, allowing him to pull out. Derek shifted so he was sitting against the headboard, legs outstretched before him. Stiles immediately straddled him, hands wrapping around his cock and giving it a couple strokes, squeezing around the base. He could feel how firm it was, harder than the rest of him, throbbing in his grip as the gland there tried so desperately to expand and lock itself inside its owner's mate.

The Alpha groaned loudly, head falling back and hitting against the wall, hips bucking. “Oh, fuck, Stiles,” he moaned out, licking his lips. “You better put me inside you soon or my knot'll be too big to fit.”

“Oh hell no,” the younger man chastised, scooting closer and lining the cock up with his hole. In one swift movement, he sank down on it, not stopping until he was fully seated on Derek's lap and had the other man's dick fully inside him. “My knot.”

A smirk formed on the werewolf's face, eyes red, knot pulsing. “Yeah, baby, your knot,” he agreed, placing his hands on the leaner man's hips and helping him move up and down his cock. “Everything I have, everything I am, it's all yours.”

Stiles grinned widely, panting as he rose up and down, arms draped over the other man's shoulders. “My Alpha.”

The smile grew. “All yours.”

“'M your 'mega,” he slurred, pleasure overriding the need for speech and being understood.

Derek's eyes were practically glowing, wide grin showing fanged teeth as he growled out a “mine!” He slammed Stiles down on him, making him cry out loudly, knot fully expanded and locking them together.

Stiles whimpered, remaining still as he adjusted to the new stretch inside of him. “Oh fuck, Der,” he moaned, barely able to hold his eyes open. “So fucking big.” His hips started moving in circles, a hand sliding up his back to rest between his shoulder blades, feeling the tell-tale pricks of claws.

“Come,” the Alpha rumbled, hips rolling to add to the friction and pleasure they were both experiencing.

But despite how amazing everything felt and how ratcheted up his body was, he still wasn't quite there. It was the bathroom on the first day of his heat all over again, being so close yet unable to just fall over the precipice and orgasm. He shook his head, whines leaving the back of his throat, frustration beginning to override pleasure. “Can't,” he stated. “Can't. So close, but can't.”

Reaching down, Derek wrapped his free hand around Stiles' cock, stroking the length, careful of the claws that were still extended. The Omega gasped, eyes widening. Holy shit, that was so much better than when he did it to himself. Sure, the angle was a little weird, but fuck, just knowing that it was Derek's hand on him made the entire thing overwhelmingly awesome.

His hips bucked up on automatic, inadvertently causing his rim to pull at Derek's knot and making them both cry out in pain.

“Shit!”

“Oh, fuck, sorry! Sorry!” Stiles' hands rubbed over broad shoulders in what he hoped what a soothing manner and he was so not fucking surprised that losing his non-heat sex virginity involved him fucking up in some way.

A small smile played on the corner of the older man's lips, the expression meant to be reassuring but not having its full effect due to the fact that his eyes still held the slight hint of pain. “It's okay,” he promised, kissing the other man lightly on his lips.

Stiles smiled shakily, swallowing, gasping as the grip around his dick tightened. His mind fogged over with pleasure once more, his orgasm racing closer, building up faster than ever. “Derek,” he whined out, forehead pressed against the werewolf's, needing just a little extra push to fully fall over the edge of ecstasy but not entirely sure what kind.

“I gotcha,” he reassured, lips grazing together, breath mingling between them. “Let go. I gotcha.”

The younger man whimpered more, clutching at Derek's back and scratching him with claws he wasn't aware had slid out. “Please,” he barely whispered, the word lost in the slick slide of a hand on his cock, in the creak of the mattress, in the rub of a knot against his prostate, in two pounding heart beats.

On the next upstroke, Derek thumbed at his head, sliding a claw into his slit. With glowing red eyes, he ran his fangs up along the Omega's throat, growling out a command to come.

“Fuck!” Stiles screamed out, hand slamming out against the wall as his orgasm slammed into him. His entire body tensed up as thick ropes of come spurted out of his cock, making him shudder all over. His eyes widened even further as he felt a pulsing inside him, the Alpha's orgasm following his, filling him up as he clutched onto the leaner male tighter.

Aftershocks raced through them both, making them tremble against one another, foreheads pressed together. Their breathing was nothing more than panting, the air mixed and mingled between parted lips, both set of them curved up in smiles.

Derek ran his clean hand through Stiles' hair, clutched the back of his head, kissed him sweetly. “I love you,” he confessed lowly, causing Stiles' grin to grow, heart pounding in the realization that it was the first time the Alpha had actually said those words.

And, of course, it was post-coitus.

A laugh bubbled out of him, arms wrapped around his neck, fingers playing with the sweaty locks at the base of his skull. “Love you, too,” he replied happily. “And I love sex. With you. Sex with you is awesome. Pretty sure it's the best sex ever.”

The older man raised his head, eyes narrowed as he sobered up. “I swear to God if you tell me you need to sleep with other people in order to create a fair comparison—”

“Fuck that!” Stiles interrupted, meaning every syllable. “You and only you. Forever.”

Another pulsing was felt inside of him, Derek shuddering in the midst of another mini-orgasm, mouth gaping as he breathed out harshly. “Oh shit, Stiles.”

A shit-eating grin formed on his face, nose rubbing against the other man's. “I take it you like that plan.”

“Very fucking much,” he replied breathlessly, eyes flickering in colors.

“Good.” He kissed the Alpha's nose then his forehead, scratching the back of his head with blunt nails. “Know what plan I like? Me eating those cinnamon rolls. Regular sex makes me hungry.”

Derek rolled his eyes and snorted, yet still reached over and grabbed a box and fork. He opened it up, cutting a piece off and offering it to the Omega to eat.

“Beff A'ph e'er,” Stiles declared, mouth full of food, getting cuffed upside the head in response.

“You and your atrocious table manners,” the werewolf complained, shaking his head and raising his eyes to the sky, obviously wondering how the hell he got stuck with a mate like Stiles.

He simply grinned before swallowing and repeating. “Best. Alpha. Ever.”

The smile on Derek's face was blinding, all white teeth and whiskered dimples, green eyes lit up from the inside out. “And I'm all yours. Forever.”

“I like the sound of that best of all.”

Their kiss wasn't much of a kiss really, mostly just their lips pressed together. They were both smiling too much to do anything else. Not that Stiles cared. He had Derek as his Alpha and his mate for life.


	15. Epilogue

Group dates no longer sucked. Well, technically, they were group _hangs_ but since eighty percent of his group had been all couples, they felt like group dates, with him and Jackson as the single losers hanging about awkwardly and covering up their loneliness and feelings of being left out with snark-offs and trash talking.

But not anymore!

Because Stiles had Derek, which meant that ninety-one percent of the group was coupled up. And he was part of the majority. So when Allison had texted him about a group outing to go bowling and to bring Derek, he jumped at the chance, dragging his Alpha along.

They ended up divided into three groups: Team Lyden vs Team Dethan on lane two, Team Malira vs Team Sterek—aka the greatest team _ever_ —on lane three, leaving Team Scallison vs Lonely Weredouche on lane four. Malia had glared and insisted her brother not give them all ship names, that it was real life and not some Tumblr blog so he needed to quit acting like a fangirl. Derek backed him up and said it was cute, causing her to groan and mutter about how nauseating they were.

The games quickly started and as always, Malia was competitive as hell, snarling at any pins that dared not fall. Derek was unsurprisingly good, reminding Stiles of times his Alpha had taken him, Malia, and Scott bowling during babysitting gigs after he'd gotten his license. Although that was probably because Paige worked the snack counters at the time, but whatever. The past didn't matter because Stiles had Derek now and would always have him.

Him and his ridiculously good bowling skills and his clever smack talk of Malia, keeping up with her jabs as she got more malicious in her drive to win.

Kira bowled pretty decently, if not a little awkwardly, uncoordinated at that as she was with everything. But Malia still applauded her and still told her she did awesome, grin on her face when the werefox bounded over to sit beside her. Stiles brought up the rear, somehow miraculously managing to break a hundred during their first game, even getting a strike. Real bowling wasn't ever really his thing. He kicked ass at the Wii version of it though, even held the family record for best game, something that pissed Malia off to no end.

Halfway through the second game, Stiles glanced around at his friends. Lydia was decimating the boys in her lane in her usual manner, all while managing to look flawless. Aiden seemed to be into the friendly competition with her, while his twin and Danny seemed more into making out with each other. Typical really.

And speaking of...

Stiles peeked at the group he was sharing a ball retriever with, noting Scott and Allison with their faces fused, oblivious to the world as always. A quick glance at the screen showed neither had bowled since the third frame and they were waiting on Jackson to roll his ball.

Jackson, who most definitely wasn't with them.

Sitting up straighter, Stiles looked around the alley, finding the blond Alpha by the snack counter. He was leaning on his forearms, the pose casual yet intimate somehow, dimpled smile on his face. And not one of his smug "I'm so amazing, I'd totally do me if I weren't me, hell I'll probably still do me, I'm just that great" smirks, but a genuine grin that meant he was actually happy being there and talking to whoever. It was an expression Stiles hadn't seen him wear since long before he and Lydia had broken up and even then, the Omega didn't think it was anything like that. Because the guy looked softer somehow, more at ease, no longer worried about putting on an image or trying to prove he was better than anyone. Gone was the cocky asshole, replaced by a nicer, calmer Alpha that Stiles actually would _want_ to be friends with.

He tore his eyes away from the blond he barely recognized at that moment, glancing over to see what exactly it was that had brought out this new and improved Jackson, only for his eyes to go wide in shock as he recognized the person working the snack counter—who was inexplicably wearing a scarf in the middle of June.

Stiles snapped his head back, masked his scent, an action that clearly made shit more obvious that he was up to something. Derek turned to him with an eyebrow cocked, the Omega shaking his head to say nothing was wrong, he was fine, it was all good in the 'hood. The older man bobbed his eyebrows in dismissal, skepticism still etched in the hard lines on his face, but he let it go. He slouched down in his seat, put his arm around the back of Stiles' chair, fingers rubbing at the back of his neck while he smack-talked Malia as she stepped up to bowl. The move looked casual, nonchalant, but Stiles had been around enough Alphas and their mates to know what it really was: an Alpha marking his claim in a publicly decent manner.

Stiles snuggled in closer, head in the crook of Derek's arm, hand on his Alpha's knee, reassuring him through his loose body and casual demeanor that he was fine. Only his mind was racing and he had a million Jackson-related thoughts swirling around, something he never believed would happen. Unless it was in an attempt to come up with some sorta revenge against the prick. But no, he was trying to figure something out, trying to come up with something _nice_.

Man, being in love had softened him up. And hey, maybe it'd do the same or Jackson. The guy already looked totally different, his own demeanor relaxed and at ease. Maybe him being in a happy relationship would make him less of a douchelord.

Feigning nonchalance, he tilted his head up, trying to meet his Alpha's eyes as Derek watched Malia pick up her ball. "Hey, Der?" he prompted, getting a grunt in response that he interpreted as a sign that he was listening and it was okay to continue. "What does Isaac smell like to you?"

That got the older man's full attention, Derek looking down at him with a cocked eyebrow and a confused stare. "What? Why?"

"Just wonderin'," he lied convincingly, playing with the older man's fingers as they sat on his lap, pretending like the whole thing was no biggie while secretly scheming inside his head.

"Shit, I dunno," the Alpha replied, huffing as he glanced about, like one of the bowling pins or balls would hook him up with the answer. When they weren't any help, he tilted his head back down to his mate, puzzlement still fully evident on his face. "Like honey-butter, I guess."

Oh. Fuck. Yes. Perfect.

Stiles nodded, lips pressed together in a hard line as he pretended to mull things over. Derek lifted his head and watched Malia knock down eight pins, the female coyote growling at the split she just received.

"Know what goes good with honey-butter?" he asked absently, eyes focused on where he was tangling his fingers with his mate's comparing sizes and lengths and roughness of skin.

The Alpha snorted, keeping his head level. "Why do I get the feeling you already know the answer?" he muttered, knowing Stiles all too well.

The thought brought a smile to his face, but he plowed on his earlier path. "Freshly baked bread," he answered his own question, feeling genuinely pleased at the recent turn of events. "And do you know who smells like freshly baked bread?"

"No, but I bet you do," he responded with a smirk, seeming more amused at his Omega's roundabout way of speaking than annoyed, clearly okay with playing along.

"Jackson."

Derek's head snapped down to him as Malia snarled out a swear at the one pin that remained standing. His eyes were wide in surprise before realization set in and returned them to their usual size. An eyebrow cocked up though, his scent shifting to something skeptical and fierce and protective, clearly looking out for Isaac's best interests. Typical Alpha response when it came to an Omega really.

"Jackson?" he snorted dubiously. "The guy you constantly refer to as the weredouche stuck on a permanent full moon? That guy?"

Okay, so he clearly hadn't done the blond any favors by talking him up, but whatever. Wasn't like he hadn't earned that description.

Still, people could change and maybe finding one's mate could help with that. Not that he thought Isaac and Jackson were definitely mates, but there was a good chance they might be. And really, he was just doing everyone a favor. Isaac was a good guy and deserved someone. Jackson was a dick who needed softening around the edges. And a less dicky Jackson was good for everyone he ever interacted with.

Stiles just needed to explain this to Derek somehow.

But rather than using words, he simply gestured to the snack bar with his head, where Jackson was still flirting with a working Isaac, the curly haired male ducking his head and smiling coyly, clearly flirting right back.

"Holy," Derek breathed out, brows raised in surprise, scent shifting to something happier, yet still protective.

"See?" Stiles pointed out, grinning smugly. "I think they'd make a good couple. Maybe Isaac could take the douche outta him or something."

"Yeah, maybe," his mate agreed lowly, more to himself than anything. But his eyes stayed on the flirting pair, analyzing their every move, watching their interaction with caution and hope and skepticism and happiness.

Sweet! Stiles had back-up when he eventually tried to set them up, a partner-in-crime on Isaac's end talking up Jackson, while Stiles told Jackson all about Isaac and how he could get the guy's number if he wanted—not that he didn't think the blond wouldn't try to get it himself, but still.

"Oh my god," Malia groaned, drawing the attention of both her brother and his mate. "Stiles, are you trying to set up another couple?" she asked dubiously as she sank down onto her seat, Kira bouncing past on her way to bowl.

" _Another_ couple?" Derek double-checked, that same eyebrow raised once more and Stiles wondered if he was on some sorta eyebrow work-out regime. Would explain why his eyebrow game was so strong.

He opened his mouth to defend himself, only to get cut off by his sister. "Yeah. Our parents."

He gaped as his mate stared at him with wide, questioning eyes, clearly having missed that fact. Which, really, wasn't much there to miss. Wasn't like he was actively going about setting them up, arranging dates, talking to his dad about how pretty Melissa looked that day, talking to her about how great his dad was, planting thoughts in their heads about the other person. He was saving that plan for later on.

And maybe also for Jackson and Isaac.

"Really now?" Derek questioned, lips twisted in a thoughtful yet amused smirk and all Stiles could do was shrug and stammer out a few syllables as he tried to defend himself.

"No," he finally managed to choke out. "Not really."

"He's been putting hazelnut flavoring in our dad's coffee," Malia stated, nose wrinkling up as she shook her head in a "who does that" manner.

Stiles sneered right back at her, only _just_ resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at her. "Our dad works really hard, okay? I'm just tryna give him a li'l something different in his coffee in the mornings to change up his long days, that's all." It was enough of the truth that his heart beat remained steady, normal, no blips or jumps to indicate he was being anything less than completely honest.

And his dad said he was a terrible liar. Bah!

Derek kept that eyebrow up, skepticism flooding his scent as he peered down at his mate. "And you just _happened_ to choose the same flavor as my mom's scent," he pointed out, completely seeing through the younger man's ruse.

The Omega shrugged, still playing innocent. "Weird coincidence."

"Stiles." His name was sighed out, the older man slipping his hand free and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Oh come on, Der," the teenager begged for his agreement, for his support, spinning his butt on the plastic chair to face his mate. "Just think about it: our parents make sense together. And they'd be totally happy and wouldn't feel so lonely once all the kids leave."

Which was part of the reason why Stiles had enacted Project: Hook Up Dad and Mama Melissa at that time. Because in a month and a half, three of them would be off to college, the fourth kid already living on his own, leaving the two parents with big empty houses and a lot less companionship. They already had a good friendship going on, a good raport, and Stiles had even witnessed some minor flirtations during holiday meals. It just made sense that they'd get together and deal with the loneliness that way, not to mention their scents were totally compatible.

Derek sighed again, dropping his hand into his lap with a smack. "Fine," he breathed out, giving in, Stiles internally fist pumping in victory, coyote jumping for joy. "On one condition."

The fist pumping, coyote jumping froze, the Omega parting his lips but not speaking. Oh god, he wasn't gonna like this. He'd heard that phrase enough times while being babysat to know it. Video games can be played if homework was done. _Star Wars_ could be watched if rooms were clean. Playing lacrosse in the backyard could be done if chores were finished.

Derek's conditions sucked.

Okay, they didn't seem so bad _now_ , but back when he was a kid, they were the actual worst.

But there was no way he could get what he wanted without a little compromise, not without turning into one of Derek's exes and taking advantage of his Alpha instincts—something he would never do ever—so he relented himself.

"What?"

"Leave Isaac and Jackson alone, no trying to set them up."

Boo!

The Alpha gave him a pointed look, making him realize he'd made that noise out loud. He apologized with a sheepish grin on his face.

"I mean it, Stiles," his mate stated, tone a warning one. "Isaac's been through a lotta shit. He doesn't need you pushing and meddling. If the two of them wanna be together, then let Jackson ask him out."

"Or Isaac can ask Jackson out," Stiles reminded him, slightly perturbed and offended. "It's the twenty-first century, Der. Omegas can make the first move these days."

"I know," he placated with a soft smile, kissing the top of his head and rubbing his shoulder, the actions working to lower the Omega's hackles and soothe him. "But Isaac isn't the type to do that. Hell, he's not much of a dating type at all. Just. Let them figure it out on their own, okay?" He gave the younger man a pleading look and Stiles completely melted under the weight of those green eyes.

A soft sigh left him and he huffed out a "fine", folding his arms over his chest with a pout. "You're the worst by the way."

"No, I'm not," the Alpha argued with a smug smirk, kissing the side of his head before standing up to bowl.

Stiles wanted to keep pouting, but the sight of Derek's ass in those tight jeans, coupled with his gray tee with a diagram of a TIE-fighter on it made it hard to stay mad. Besides, at least he'd been given permission to try and hook their parents up. He figured that'd be the pairing his mate would shut down due to how weird it would be if he succeeded. At least Malia kept insisting it would be weird, pointing out that they live in California, not the south and dating one's sibling is frowned upon. Led to a pretty intense debate about whether step-siblings counted and if it even mattered when Mates were involved.

Stiles didn't think it did. He did, however, think Malia was saying all that just to piss him off.

He snapped out of his reverie to see Derek bowl a perfect strike, spinning around on his heel with his arms outstretched, huge grin on his face. Malia groaned loudly, head falling back, Kira snuggling into her in consolation. Stiles let out a whoop, standing up to pump his fist and high five his mate before kissing him, pride shining in his eyes.

The Alpha smacked his ass and gave him a good luck before returning to his seat, sticking his tongue out at Malia as he plopped down. Stiles kept smirking as he grabbed his ball and got set to bowl, Danny at the lane next to him.

"Hey, Stiles?" the tan male called for his attention, waiting until the mentioned one turned his head to him. "Your Alpha's pretty damn awesome."

Stiles' grin grew even more, coyote wagging its tail excitedly as he peered over his shoulder. Derek was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, eyes totally fixated on his mate as he clapped his hands and cheered him on. A dimpled smile formed on his whiskered face as he winked, silently reassuring him that he'd do a good job bowling. And to think, for the past month he'd been officially Stiles' boyfriend, the two of them officially a serious couple. After all the panic over his impending heat and the anxiety over asking Derek to service him and pretending during the week itself that they really were together in an actual relationship, it was almost hard to believe that he came out on the other side with the most gorgeous Alpha ever to walk the Earth.

A gorgeous Alpha who put his Omega's needs first, put his own life on hold for a guy he wasn't even technically with and had barely spoken to over the past five years, who sacrificed his own happiness and risked his own heart out of the belief that all it would be was heat sex, but was desperate enough to be with him to actually let himself be used, despite his history.

A gorgeous Alpha who shoved aside special diets and his own preferential way of eating to indulge his Omega in junk food, who let him have control of the remote and borrow his _Twilight Zone_ book and not question why it hadn't been returned after three weeks.

A gorgeous Alpha who made sure his Omega was always well taken care of, that he enjoyed his first heat and losing his virginity and didn't have a single regret about the experience, despite his incredible panic regarding the whole thing.

"Yeah," he agreed, turning back to Danny. "He's the best Alpha ever."

And he was all Stiles'.


End file.
